Perfect for Jesse St James
by broadwaypants
Summary: Jesse and Blaine have a nice, easy friendship. At least, it was nice and easy until they met for lattes after Blaine's latest heartbreak, which leads to both confessing more to each other and themselves than they'd ever planned.
1. Chapter 1

Jesse wasn't sure when he'd turned into someone who actually cared about something as petty as someone else's high school romance.

All he knew was that he was home on break, Westerville wasn't that far away, and that a certain Blaine Anderson had never been one to deal with disappointment in a way that most sane people consider healthy. So when Jesse had done his bi-monthly facebook log-in – the only purpose of which was to check and update his fanpage – and saw that Blaine's status read, _'I suppose all good things do come to an end,'_ he heaved a rather impressive sigh and clicked on the link to Blaine's profile, determined to see what had the boy down this time.

Jesse remembered with almost painful clarity the first time he had led Vocal Adrenaline to victory. Just a sophomore and already lead singer, he had crushed Dalton's Warblers without leaving anyone thinking otherwise. And the third group they'd been competing against? So insignificant that Jesse didn't even remember their name. But one thing that stood out that day was the look on the tiniest Warbler's face, as if someone had just taken a baby dolphin and snapped its spine in front of him.

That tiny Warbler? Blaine Anderson as a freshman. Apart from that heart-shattering expression of disappointment – which hadn't rattled Jesse at all, so stop looking at him like that – there was nothing to set him apart from all the other uniform-clad boys. Except for the message and friend request Jesse had received on facebook the next day.

_Hi Jesse,_

I didn't get a chance to say congratulations in person, so… Congratulations! You and your club were fantastic at Sectionals. Too bad we didn't at least tie so I could come watch your club again, haha. I was hoping that maybe you could pass along some VA wisdom, actually. You're an amazing lead singer and I want to be a soloist too, so if you could spare a few minutes I'd really appreciate it.

Thanks!

Blaine Anderson

The message had been so embarrassing that Jesse had considered deleting it and blocking the poor child. Surely it would be better for the poor kid to forget about his foolish message or the even more foolish friend request rather than have a patronizing answer stuck in his messages until he wised up enough to delete it. After all, the kid was only fourteen, and from Jesse's experience, most kids don't know how to write a proper piece of fan mail until they're at least sixteen. It comes along with the whole, "Holy shit I can drive now!" mentality.

Luckily for Blaine, his social ineptitude extended to his privacy settings on facebook, so Jesse was able to poke around a little to see why on earth this kid wouldn't just go to one of the Warblers for advice. Sure, he was Jesse St. James, but he was still "the enemy," and even most fourteen year olds are smart enough to understand the concept of boundaries.

It was almost too easy to figure it out. Blaine had "Kent Middle School" listed as his previous schools and Akron as his hometown. Obviously he would have gone to Carmel if he hadn't been shipped off to Westerville. Jesse even pulled out his eighth grade yearbook, flipping back to look at the black-and-white photos of the seventh graders, quickly locating Blaine's picture, since his name was alphabetically first out of the whole grade.

It took Jesse about four minutes of straight thinking about middle school to remember Blaine. But when he did, he burst out laughing. So _this_ was the kid he'd just gotten a message from. Oh, Lordy, was this going to be a problem. He barely remembered Blaine, but what stood out was the kid who dressed like his mother had picked out his clothes, glasses and braces and acne all at the same time, walking around with his head bowed as if hoping the bullies would back off if he didn't acknowledge their existence. They had been in choir together, Jesse knew, but he never remembered Blaine's performance as anything special, unless that time he'd played the ukulele for one of Jesse's solos counted.

Oh, wait, it all made sense now. Jesse knew a thing or two about kids that got picked on, having been somewhat of a bully before he'd realized that it would come back to haunt him once he was big and famous, and he knew that they latched onto the first person who was nice to them. They idolized anyone who showed them kindness, no matter if that act of kindness was just a pat on the arm and a hurried, "You're a really good uke player," after choir practice one day.

Jesse flipped to the back of his yearbook, smiling when he recognized the loopy signature and the silly cartoon of a smiling ukulele. Yep, Blaine had definitely latched onto him.

So Jesse took pity on the poor child, accepting his friend request and typing out a quick response to his message. He got quite the "thank you so much!" message in return, and Jesse was actually impressed with how Blaine handled himself from then on. Sure, he 'liked' Jesse's statuses a bit too consistently and he clearly didn't understand that Jesse's default answer of "I'm busy," every time he popped up on facebook chat translated to "Go away," but really, Jesse couldn't complain. And once Blaine started growing into himself and realizing that he wasn't the little kid who got picked on anymore, they were able to form a relationship of almost-equals. Because Jesse is always superior.

But if there was one thing Jesse had learned about Blaine through their online interaction, it was that he was overly dramatic. The kid could look all calm and put-together on the outside, but then he'd write a facebook note about something really depressing and his status would be a quote from some emo rock band. There was almost always a hidden meaning, and Jesse probably wouldn't have given the kid a second glance if he hadn't known what he'd been put through during middle school. Blaine had obviously transferred to Dalton for a reason.

Their friendship offline started to form a while later. Blaine turned up to Vocal Adrenaline's invitationals and Jesse was kind enough to invite him out to coffee afterward. Even though they'd both gotten caffeinated drinks, there had been something calming about sitting together drinking lattes, and both of them had been relaxed enough to actually open up a little and get to know one another.

It turned into a monthly thing. The first weekend of every month, Jesse would drive out to Westerville for a latte and some soul-baring. He watched Blaine go from an awkward little freshman into a confident and rather dapper junior, with a smile that attracted way too much attention for his own good and a voice that even Jesse would admit was good.

And when Blaine's facebook status was anything less than happy? Jesse would comment with a default, "Don't make me drive out there to dump a latte on your head," and Blaine would, of course, delete the status immediately and either tell Jesse it was no big deal or call him up and tell him what was the matter.

Which is why Jesse still cares enough about the now-senior to stalk his facebook profile to see what the problem is. He and Blaine had drifted apart since he graduated, though Jesse suspected that the fact that he'd egged Rachel Berry had played a part as well. Which was completely unfair, because Blaine had been the only person he'd been honest with through that whole ordeal.

Jesse scrolled through Blaine's profile, frowning when he saw posts from the members of New Directions, all telling him – some more eloquently than others – that he was a jerk. Jesse spied a little heart icon, next to which the caption read, _'Blaine Anderson is now single.'_

He couldn't help but laugh. Blaine would be the type to make a big deal out of a breakup. He knew full well that high school relationships are almost always doomed, so why should his be any different? Jesse had quite literally proved that time and time again, most of his relationships lasting for a week, if the girl was lucky.

But Blaine had always been the romantic of the two. Jesse had actually picked up a few tips from him when it came time to "befriend" Rachel, not really knowing how to properly charm a girl into a relationship that wasn't about sex. And even then he'd been hasty and still wanted the sex part, although he was smart enough to stop pushing the matter when Rachel made it clear she wasn't ready. It was after that, after he'd known he had no chance of going that far with her, when he'd put some genuine effort into their relationship, finding that it was actually quite nice.

Shit, now he felt guilty for laughing. He couldn't even bring himself to leave his default comment on Blaine's status, because he remembered just how hard Blaine had taken his last breakup. The boy had spiraled into a pit of despair, and that was putting it lightly.

So Jesse closed his laptop, not even bothering to update his fanpage or answer any of the sixteen messages he had, and gave Blaine a call.

"What?" was the answer he received after the seventh ring.

"Hello to you too," Jesse said through a smirk. "Lattes? Four-thirty?"

"Go away, Jesse," Blaine's voice sounded muffled, and Jesse suspected that he was trying to smother himself with a blanket. Again.

"I'm not even in Westerville, you idiot," Jesse said patiently. "And I don't have to come out. It'd save me quite the drive. But you're moping and have depressing shit on your facebook and you'll just embarrass yourself if I don't come shake you out of it."

"Fine," Blaine agreed. "Four-thirty. Dalton's rec room. I'll put in a visitor's notice for you so they let you in."

"Good boy," Jesse smirked again. "But you know I don't drink the crap they serve in the rec room. We're going out, so I expect you to look presentable. You're not getting away with your Warblers T-shirt and Dalton sweats."

"I hate you."

"Love you too. Now, smarten up. It'll be four-thirty before you know it."

It really went to show just how well Jesse had come to know Blaine that he was able to narrate the rest of Blaine's day from that point on. At noon, when Jesse sat down to look over the homework he had to get done, he decided that Blaine was only just getting himself out of bed. One o'clock, when Jesse decided homework was beneath him and not worth any more than an hour of his precious time, Blaine would finally force himself to go into the shower and get cleaned up.

Jesse left at two, giving himself plenty of time to make the drive to Westerville, knowing that Blaine would just now be finishing trying to drown himself in the shower and getting out. While Jesse drove for the next two hours, he imagined Blaine staring woefully at his closet full of uniforms, debating whether to go with the blazer or the sweater. He always chose the blazer, and everyone knew he would choose the blazer, but it would take him about ten minutes to actually come to that conclusion today.

By the time Jesse pulled into the visitors' parking lot, he knew that Blaine would be running around his room, frantically combing his hair back and making it stay put with a layer of gel, wondering how on earth it had taken him so long to get ready. Jesse walked slowly to the recreation center on purpose, knowing that if he timed it right, he'd be walking through the door just as Blaine came flying out of his dorm building.

Success was his when he put his hand on the doorknob and looked over at Blaine's dorm, seeing the other boy tearing across the green towards him, blazer unbuttoned and flapping behind him.

"I am Blaine, king of the blazers," Jesse sang under his breath, spoofing the song from SPAMalot.

"Sorry," Blaine said breathlessly, coming to a halt at Jesse's side.

"There you go, got your adrenaline pumping?" Jesse gave his arm a pat, then took hold of it, steering him over to where he had parked. "Come on, let's go. It's time for me to laugh at your troubles."

"Shut up," Blaine shrugged him off, suddenly somber.

"Oh please, you know me and you know you," Jesse shook his head. "You're a chronic moper whereas I choose to laugh at others' misfortunes."

"But only if they're your friends," Blaien continued, knowing Jesse's mini-speech by heart, "because laughing at the fate of strangers gives you bad karma."

"Exactly," Jesse grinned at him, unlocking his car and getting into the driver's seat. "So, Starbucks? Or are there any new cute little indie cafes around here that need our money more?"

"Starbucks," Blaine answered, buckling his seatbelt. "I'm not in the mood for anything unique or different or artsy. Give me something over-priced and over-commercialized with whipped cream on top."

"Okay, it must be really bad, because you never go for Starbucks over the indie places," Jesse commented as he backed out of his parking spot, visitor parking pass hanging from his rear-view mirror. "Was the ex-boyfriend into indie bands or something?"

"Please, like you don't know who the ex-boyfriend is," Blaine rested his elbow on his armrest, chin on his hand and staring out the window.

"No, actually, I don't," Jesse reminded him. "A certain someone decided not to talk to me after I egged Rachel Berry, which, I must remind him, is completely unfair seeing how he was the only person who knew how I truly felt through that whole ordeal." Jesse sniffed, turning off campus and adding, "Besides, I didn't even buy the eggs."

"You're a dick," Blaine told him, as if stating a fact.

"And you're projecting," Jesse countered. "I'm not ex-boyfriend number two. I'm Jesse St. James, who you idolize and want to be like when you grow up."

"Shut up," Blaine gave him a shove, but at least now he was smiling.

"Ooh, Jesse, tell me your secrets," Jesse said in a high-pitched, mocking voice. "I want to be just like you. Tell me all about being a star."

"Shut _up_," Blaine repeated, but Jesse knew by his tone that he was fighting back a laugh.

But Jesse heeded his words, playing his "Jesse's favorite showstoppers" CD instead of talking. He knew how much Blaine liked singing along to the big Broadway numbers whenever he was upset.

That seemed to work, too, with them singing along to classics like If I Were a Rich Man, Wilkommen, Let the Sunshine In, and Send in the Clowns. But when Don't Cry for Me Argentina came on, Blaine reached over and switched it off.

"You're right," Jesse said without thinking that maybe this song actually meant something to Blaine, "the rest of this CD is rather cluttered with Webber, and I'm not thinking too kindly of him at the moment. Why he thinks sequel shows are a good idea when clearly it's going to fail abysmally is beyond me."

"Shut up," Blaine repeated his words from before, but this time speaking quietly, turned towards the window again, and Jesse knew something was up. Rather than let it lie, he jumped on the conversation.

"So the ex was a Broadway boy too, huh?" he asked, pulling into a parking spot in front of Starbucks. "Which one of you sang that song, then?"

"Can we have this conversation after I have my artificially flavored drink?" Blaine asked the window.

"Of course," Jesse put the car in park and hopped out of his side, racing over to the passenger side and opening Blaine's door for him. "After you, my good sir." He added a little bow, hoping to make Blaine laugh. It didn't work. All he got was a shrug and a quiet, "Whatever."

Ouch. Obviously the song was a touchy subject, touchier than Jesse had anticipated. So he just bounded ahead of Blaine into the shop, already ordering for the pair of them by the time Blaine walked through the door.

"Here you go, honey," Jesse presented Blaine with his latte, attracting the looks of some of the other patrons. "Why don't we go sit outside on the terrace?"

"Jesse," Blaine's voice came out as a pleading groan. "Don't do this."

"Do what?" Jesse asked brightly, holding the door open for Blaine and grinning at him as they walked back outside. He let Blaine choose from the two free tables, not missing how Blaine picked the one furthest from the shop's entrance and closest to the road. How un-Blaine like. He was normally one to sit right in the middle of things, relaxed and engaging strangers in conversation.

"Don't do the whole fake chivalry thing," Blaine said dismissively, taking a sip of his latte.

"Why must you offend me with such accusations?" Jesse put his free hand on his heart, fixing a look of shock on his face. "How dare you accuse my chivalry as being anything but genuine!"

"Then at least tone it down," Blaine slumped back in his chair, body language suggesting that it was more out of tiredness than relaxation. "For instance, this is not a terrace; it's a fucking sidewalk."

"Language," Jesse's tone was patronizing and he smirked before taking a sip of his latte.

"Shut the fuck up," Blaine challenged. "And stop calling me 'honey,' when we go places. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I want people thinking I'm getting some. I don't exactly want a reputation to match yours back at Carmel."

Jesse counted to five. Blaine was projecting. He always ended up projecting onto Jesse whenever he was upset. Call it one of his bad habits, because he knows that no matter what he says, Jesse will still be there for him. So Jesse bit back his retort by taking another sip of his drink.

"So, who broke your heart?" Jesse managed with difficulty not to add 'this time,' to the end of that question.

"I don't want to talk about it," Blaine said evasively, looking at the door to the shop. His hand closed around his cup, gripping it tightly but not picking it up. Jesse noticed the tension in his hand and followed that tension all the way up Blaine's arm, into Blaine's neck, down his back. His entire body was stiff, though to a passerby he looked as if he was just lounging outside.

"At least tell me a name," Jesse all but pleaded.

"If you actually checked your facebook once in a while, you'd know," Blaine's tone was accusatory. Still projecting, still projecting. Jesse took another sip of his drink, knowing that at this rate he'd burn his throat if Blaine didn't stop the nonsense.

"I was at Regionals, you know," Jesse's finger started tracing the pattern on the edge of the table as he spoke, not meeting Blaine's eye. "I watched all four groups perform, and while I'd love to say that my loyalty to you as a friend extends to my show choir judgment, that would be a complete lie. Your club had nowhere near the originality as New Directions brought to the table. Rachel's solo was glorious."

And oh, yes it most definitely had been. Jesse hadn't made a big fuss out of being back for a visit, just popping in to visit Shelby and see his family before going back out to California. But he had made sure to go to Regionals, to see his best friend, his ex-girlfriend, and his old glee club compete against each other and a new group Jesse had never heard of before.

Jesse St. James is not the type of man who sheds tears easily, but when it comes to Rachel Berry leading her glee club and pouring her entire being into a performance… Well, there hadn't exactly been a dry eye in the house, so it wasn't like it was just him or anything.

"They still lost," Blaine reminded him bitterly.

"Well, Vocal Adrenaline puts in more work in one afternoon than both your clubs do all week. Combined," Jesse pointed out fairly.

"Except for you robots eight at night is still considered to be in the afternoon."

Was that a smile? Progress!

"What can I say? I got used to living off four hours of sleep on a good day and just drinking Red Bull in-between classes. It's a sacrifice which must be made, Blaine," Jesse looked at him seriously over the top of his coffee cup, then wiggling his eyebrows and gaining himself another small smile.

"You should try it sometime," Jesse continued. "Honestly, the constant adrenaline rush probably took about ten years off my life, but it's the best high you'll ever feel in your entire life. Performing onstage and being so damn jittery that you end up skipping every time you want to walk somewhere? It's better than drugs. Makes for an awesome lay, too. Going to McKinley was like culture shock. Except it affected my heart rate instead of my brain. Well, probably my brain too, but you get what I'm saying."

And that was when Blaine chose to shout.

"It's all your fault, you dick!" His posture straightened and he leaned over the table, not bothering to keep his voice down. "It' all your fault! Why'd you have to go to that stupid school in the first place? Why'd you have to be such a complete asshole and ruin my life?"

Well, then. Apparently the projecting wasn't over.

"Care to explain your sudden resentment towards your best friend?" Jesse asked calmly, taking another sip of his latte. "I believe an explanation is in order, especially seeing how you were the one person I was completely honest with throughout that whole ordeal." He sniffed, setting his latte down on the table and saying, "You're being completely unfair."

"No, it's all your fault!" Blaine repeated. "It's your fault my boyfriend hates me!" Then he paused, as if shocked by his own words. "No, it's your fault that Kurt's not my boyfriend anymore! I can't even call him my boyfriend because he hates me too much!"

"Well, that makes sense," Jesse shrugged, completely nonplussed by this new information. "I should have realized that you and Kurt were together. All those looks you two exchanged at Regionals certainly said enough to make that obvious. And although I appreciated the sentimentality and the added meaning this gave your songs, you may want to tone it down next year. Sure, in a more progressive society that would have given you bonus points, but we are still in Ohio, here."

"Excuse me?"

"Hey, I'm just being honest," Jesse held up his hands.

"Why can't you be a normal human being and sympathize with my romantic woes?" Blaine looked at his latte as if it had personally offended him.

"Because I'd rather get an explanation for why it's my fault before I even think about sympathizing with you."

"It's your fault because you're a dick who throws eggs at people," Blaine's justification made absolutely no sense, but the boy looked as if Jesse should be able to figure it all out on his own.

"Again, not my idea and I never even bought the eggs," Jesse ticked these pieces of information off his fingers as he spoke. "Elaborate further, m'dear."

Blaine scowled at the term of endearment. Jesse just winked.

"Why did you have to end up transferring back to Carmel right before Regionals and breaking Rachel's heart?" Blaine asked him, eyebrows furrowed together in a deep frown. "Do you have any idea the sort of emotional effect that's had on the entire group, not just Rachel?"

"Well, I assume they all have some rather serious trust issues," Jesse spoke as if commenting on the mildness of the weather. "Maybe added in a little paranoia when it comes to competitions and the people that are their competition, but that's nothing that can't be fixed over time. By the time they're seniors they'll have forgotten all about me, I'm sure."

"Is that why you never apologized?" Blaine pressed the issue. "You've been back in Ohio for every break you've had, even coming to Regionals. Why didn't you find Rachel and apologize?"

"Because it's easier to love from afar then jeopardize the already shattered emotions of the one woman who will ever be worthy of my eternal love," Jesse's airy tone certainly did not match what he had just said. "Why not let her continue to loathe me in silence, while I take it as my penance to waste away, never loving another for no other will ever live up to the perfection that is Rachel Berry?"

Blaine stared at him, gaping and silent, for a whole ten seconds.

"That makes absolutely no sense," he finally decided. "And besides, you don't get to rationalize stupid decisions. You're still a dick who ruined my life. By accident."

"Ex-plain," Jesse enunciated each syllable.

"I can't transfer to McKinley because everyone will think I'm you!" Blaine slammed a fist down on the table. "Except nicer and with better hair and shorter and gay. But still!" The other fist slammed down as well. "They'll think I'm your mini, gay clone!"

This time it was Jesse who stared across the table, gaping and silent.

"Now _that_ makes no sense," he decided, nodding once as if that settled the matter.

"Excuse me, I'm making perfect sense. You're just not keeping up."

"Did you just say that in a British accent?" Jesse raised an eyebrow.

"No," Blaine denied it a bit too quickly, picking up his latte and taking a sip. Jesse stared at him again, trying to work out what Blaine had just said before it clicked. Then he reached across the table and smacked Blaine on the side of the head. After he had lowered his drink from his lips, obviously.

"Don't quote _Doctor Who_ at me, Blaine Anderson," Jesse pointed an accusing finger at the boy. "Just because you carry a pocket watch does not give you the right to use the Doctor's words in everyday conversation like that. Speaking of which, what time is it?"

Blaine reached into his pocket, making quite the show out of opening the heavy, golden pocket watch, a smirk flitting across his face. He looked smugly up at Jesse, adopting an accent again and saying, "It is about quarter past the fifth hour."

"Don't get all snotty with me; I still think your argument makes no sense," Jesse reminded him. "And I shall now prove your argument invalid and why you need to fess up and take responsibility for your own mistakes, rather than blaming poor me for all your woes.

"One," he held up a finger, "you and Kurt already had an established relationship at Dalton, proving to everyone that you are not taking advantage of him in any way. Two; you both lost Regionals. You're no longer competing against each other, so there is no reason for you to transfer to spy on them. Three; giving up Dalton's academics and guaranteed college admission would probably be the stupidest move for you, as a senior, to make. Four; clearly you and Kurt broke up for a reason other than your sudden desire to be the epitome of a clingy boyfriend, so transferring to McKinley where all you have is an angry ex? Not exactly the best idea."

He held up both arms, exclaiming, "Therefore: not my fault!"

"It's still your fault Kurt told me not to," Blaine looked absolutely miserable. "The moment I suggested it, he laughed and told me he didn't want me to 'pull a Jesse,' because that wouldn't do anyone any good."

"I didn't know my name was a noun now," Jesse nodded appreciatively. "I'll have to add that to my fanpage when I get home."

"But I wasn't doing it just for him!" Blaine insisted, choosing to ignore Jesse's comment. "Yes, I will admit that being with my boyfriend was the deciding factor for wanting to transfer schools, but I also need to face my fears and deal with my own regrets before I go off to college and lose that opportunity forever. I need to confront anyone who judges me because of my sexuality and tell them why they're wrong. I need to confront what I ran away from!"

"So go to a Christian college for a semester," Jesse suggested.

"I'm serious!"

"I am, too!"

"No you're not!" Blaine glared at him. "Come on, Jesse, you know how things were at Carmel. I ran from all that when I should have stayed and tried to educate people, tell them why they were wrong."

"So you want to give up a Dalton graduation, which would look absolutely incredible on any application for any internship or study abroad program you'll ever want, and go to a sub-standard public high school just so you can get slammed into lockers in-between classes?"

"Pretty much," Blaine nodded.

"And you expect me to believe that your boyfriend dumped you because you have some serious issues letting the past go?"

Blaine squirmed in his seat.

"Well, we sort of… fought about it. A little," he admitted.

"On a scale of 'your _face_ is stupid' to 'I never should have dated you in the first place,' how bad are we talking?"

The guilty look on Blaine's face answered the question.

"I said some really stupid things," he told the table. "And I think I really hurt his feelings. But I didn't mean to, honest! It was an accident and I've been apologizing ever since."

"How long ago did this happen?"

"Three days ago."

Jesse couldn't help but laugh. Blaine's expression went from complete devastation to utter horror, which made Jesse laugh even harder. Hand over his heart, he managed to calm down, choking out, "Three days ago? You're expecting things to go back to normal after only three days?"

"I've called him to apologize every day," Blaine informed him, "but he hasn't answered."

"Well of course he hasn't," Jesse shook his head. "He's pissed at you and right now he wants to stay pissed at you because you hurt his feelings, you dolt! Come _on_, even you aren't dense enough to expect a running-through-a-field-of-flowers-to-reunite-with-your-estranged-lover scene after three days."

Blaine continued to look devastated, so Jesse pushed his chair out and slapped both hands down on his lap.

"Come over here."

"I am not sitting on your lap in public, Jesse," Blaine grumbled. "I'd like the people of Westerville to not think I hop on any guy who shows the slightest bit of interest, thanks."

"Please," Jesse waved this away, "every person in that coffee shop things we're dating, so you might as well get over here."

Blaine hesitated, then got up from his seat, sitting down carefully on Jesse's lap. Both of Jesse's arms went around Blaine's waist, holding him in place, and Blaine's head fell almost automatically to rest on Jesse's shoulder.

"How long has it been since you've had physical contact with another human being?" Jesse found himself asking, because normally it took a lot more wheedling to get Blaine to actually relax.

"Four days," Blaine mumbled, breath tickling Jesse's neck.

"No wonder you're depressed. You get worse than me when nobody's around to hold you and make it all better."

"Stop treating me like a five year old girl," Blaine's tone suggested that he was just that, but he didn't straighten up. In fact, he snuggled in closer.

That's when Blaine's phone started buzzing. Blaine fished in his pocket, grabbing it and checking the caller ID. Jesse knew who it was by the way his face paled and his eyes widened, and just how calm and careful his tone was when he answered and said, "Hello?"

"Blaine?" Jesse could just barely hear voice on the other end, and it definitely wasn't Kurt.

"Oh, hi Mercedes," Blaine forced a smile. That was when the phone exploded, Mercedes clearly ranting, though Jesse and Blaine were too caught off-guard by her sudden outburst to actually listen to what she was saying. Jesse held out one hand, gesturing for Blaine to pass the phone to him. He did so without a word.

"Hi, Mercedes," Jesse said when she stopped to take a breath.

"Who is this?" she demanded.

"It's Jesse St. James. Now, look, I –"

"Oh, I bet you two think you're clever, don't you?" Mercedes was off again. "I bet you two are sitting laughing about how you've both sufficiently screwed over our glee club and messed with my friends' hearts two too many times, aren't you? I should have known you were behind all this; it just smells like evil and that's just what you are, Jesse: evil. Good bye, and do _not_ try to contact any of us again."

The line went dead. Jesse gaped at Blaine, who gaped right back, before collapsing back onto Jesse's shoulder.

"I had no idea she was gonna go all batshit on me," Jesse promised. "Here." He handed the phone back. "I really think we just need to let them all cool off for a while. Then you can try calling."

"This time it really was your fault," Blaine reminded him. "I hate you."

"No you don't," Jesse insisted. "You're just upset and you get melodramatic when you're upset." He paused, then grinned, saying, "So I'm gonna get you drunk."

"What?" Blaine was up and out of Jesse's lap faster than Jesse had thought was possible. He only stopped moving when he was certain that the table was securely between them. "Why would you do something that stupid?"

"Because it's fun?" Jesse shrugged. "Come on, I did it all the time in college. It's a great way to just have fun for a while."

"How will temporarily solving my problems and waking up with a hangover do me any good?" Blaine countered.

"Well, we won't get you _drunk_, exactly," Jesse remedied. "Just tipsy enough to loosen your inhibitions. That way we avoid the hangover problem and you don't suffer from major depression from too much alcohol. What do you say?"

"I know you're used to a big city and everything, but Westerville isn't that large. And Dalton's kind of a big deal here, so people know me, Jesse. They know I'm only seventeen and they would never serve a minor alcohol. Especially one they've come to respect. I worked hard for that reputation, Jesse. Do you have any idea how hard it is for an openly gay teen to get conservatives to like him?"

"Who said anything about staying here? You're coming with me to Akron."

Blaine looked like he wanted to protest, but Jesse just pointed at his latte, saying, "That thing cost me three dollars, and if I'm buying you more drinks later, you better appreciate this one and drink it all. Right now."

He watched while Blaine somehow managed to choke down his lukewarm latte with a smirk on his face. That smirk stayed in place for the rest of the day, remaining prominent on his face when they successfully got into a quiet little bar two streets away from Carmel High, one that Jesse claimed to have come to before.

"They never check for ID," he had shrugged, giving Blaine an encouraging pat on the back as they approached the door. "And even so, I'm Jesse St. James. I'm the guy who made it out of Akron. They love me here."

Indeed they did, for the bouncer at the door just gave Jesse a smile and ushered him inside, not even bothering to ask what he was doing or why he was here when he was so painfully obviously not twenty-one. The bartender even gave both boys a shot without being asked, grinning when Jesse slipped her a twenty and winked.

It took Jesse five whole minutes to convince Blaine to actually down the shot, already feeling his own working through his body. He flagged down the bartender and asked for another, holding it between himself and Blaine and saying, "Together, okay?"

Reluctantly, Blaine picked up his shot glass, meeting Jesse's confident stare with his own worried expression. But he nodded, and the two boys downed the shots in unison, Blaine wincing and coughing and asking hoarsely, "Is it supposed to burn?"

Jesse just slammed his shot glass down with a loud _chink_, waving for another.

"I thought you said you wanted to take me dancing," Blaine said, confused, after downing the next shot. "This place isn't exactly very lively."

"We start slow," Jesse informed him, turning Blaine's stool so he could look out at the rest of the bar, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "This place is quiet and dark and calm, the perfect place to start out with. Then we'll go to the gay club so you can get your fine ass noticed by some hot guys."

Blaine just stared at him. Jesse scoffed and laughed.

"Please, like you don't want to," he waved his hand airily. Blaine didn't deny it, and Jesse's smirk was back.

They stayed at the quiet bar for about an hour, listening to the songs people picked out from the jukebox in the corner, peering around the darkened room at the couples cuddling and kissing in the booths and the man standing in the corner, eyes closed and swaying back and forth in time to the music. Jesse paid a dollar to pick out a song, choosing Queen's _Bohemian Rhapsody_ for reasons that were apparent from the nostalgia painted all over his face.

Then they left, heading further into town, stopping at a gay bar that Jesse admitted to frequenting quite a bit during his senior year, not to get drunk or even drink at all, but to pick up all the straight girls that got dragged along by their gay best friends.

It was a surprisingly relaxed place, the music only playing softly and the lights flickering between muted tones of blues and purples instead of yellows and reds. Jesse pulled Blaine up to the counter, ordering a beer and a coke, giving the beer to Blaine and keeping the coke for himself.

"Why do I have to drink the alcohol?" Blaine sounded almost whiney as he looked at the size of the glass he'd been given. "Why do you get coke?"

"Do you want a rum and coke instead?" Jesse raised his arm halfway in the air, beginning to flag down the bartender, but Blaine grabbed his arm and lowered it quickly.

"No, I just don't understand why you're not drinking but I am."

"Somebody's got to keep a level head and make sure you don't end up losing your virginity in a public restroom," Jesse said with a wink, taking a sip of his coke. "Plus this beer will probably be enough for you to loosen up and either dance with that guy who's been eyeing you since we walked in or spill your soul to one of the lonely lesbians sitting in the booths." He slipped an arm around Blaine's shoulders again, pulling him in close and whispering in his ear, "And always spill your soul to the lesbians, because they don't have ulterior motives." Then he winked, hopping off his stool.

"Where are you going?" Blaine sounded panicky.

"There are two straight girls over there," Jesse jerked his head over his shoulder. "They look sad and lost and it's my job to assure them that there are boys in here who will compliment their ass and not the jeans that make their asses look fabulous."

Blaine looked confused and a little bit lost himself, but Jesse just gave him a pat on the shoulder and crossed to the other side of the room. Smirk in place and running his fingers through his hair, he came to a halt in front of the two lost-looking girls, saying, "Hey there. I'm Jesse."

They giggled. He gave them both a none-too-subtle once-over, slipping in between them and putting an arm around the shorter one's shoulders and the taller one's waist. "So tell me, what are you two doing in a place like this?"

"They wanted to come," the girls said in unison, raising their arms and pointing to two boys who were shamelessly flirting with each other at one of the tables.

"We're their designated drivers," the shorter of the two explained.

"Why do you ask?" the taller one leaned closer into Jesse's touch. "Won't your boyfriend get lonely over there?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Jesse looked back over at Blaine, who was currently staring right at him, expression blank. "He's just a friend who really needed a night out. Unfortunately for him, he's terrified to death of alcohol or something."

"Poor baby," the shorter one's arm went around Jesse's waist. "Maybe you'll just have to show him how nights out are supposed to go."

He grinned at the pair of them.

"I couldn't agree more."

Even though he'd only had two shots, the advantage of being in a bar was that nobody else knew how much you'd had to drink. Jesse could pretend to be hammered and for all anyone would know, he was. So even though he knew exactly what he was doing and both of these girls apparently knew exactly what they were doing, all three of them let themselves go. Jesse began twirling them around in time to the music, switching back and forth between them and sometimes sandwiching himself between them, dancing with both at once.

The rest of the crowd seemed to follow their lead, latching onto a partner and dancing to the music that had started growing steadily louder and faster. Jesse could feel one girl's hands on his waist from behind, pressing her body against him and moving in time with him as he moved his hips against the other girl, barely remembering which one was which or that they hadn't told him their names. The one in front of him turned in his arms, his fingers brushing against her bare midriff as she locked her arms around his neck.

"This is fun," her voice was breathy in Jesse's ear, and he heard a murmur of agreement from the girl behind him in his other ear. He felt hands being removed from around his waist and fastening instead on his forearms, guiding his hands along the curve of the other girl's back, down along her waist and into the back pockets of her jeans. Her body pressed into his, lips finding the spot behind his ear and sucking a mark into his skin.

He felt laughter behind him, jerking him out of the moment and making him turn his head to see just what was so funny. The lips left his skin with a _pop_ as he and the first girl turned to see what the other one was laughing at.

"I think your boyfriend misses you, Jesse," the girl behind him said as the girl in front of him started laughing as well, moving herself from Jesse's grasp. His hands suddenly felt cold, and the girl behind him turned his shoulders and gave him a shove. Stumbling from the sudden disorientation that came from the loss of that wonderful physical contact, Jesse's eyes finally focused on Blaine, who was coming toward him, eyes hazed over.

"How many more did you have?" Jesse asked him when they were within hearing range, but Blaine didn't answer. His arms went around Jesse's torso and he clung there, head resting on Jesse's shoulder again. Jesse lifted Blaine's face so he could look him in the eye, repeating, "How many more did you have?"

"Just the one," Blaine's words weren't slurred, and he seemed in control of his words and his body, even though the look in his eye begged to differ.

"Then you're not going to make any stupid decisions," Jesse decided. "Go on, find that guy who was ogling you and dance with him."

"Don't wanna," Blaine's arms tightened around Jesse. "I wanna dance with you."

"Jealous of my skills?" Jesse laughed. "Or are you jealous of all the attention I was giving those lovely ladies?" He looked over his shoulder. "Who seem to have vanished."

"They're not worthy," Blaine told him, pointedly making eye contact. "They're not Rachel Berry-level perfection."

"Of course not," Jesse agreed. "But that doesn't mean we can't have a bit of fun."

"Have a bit of fun with me," Blaine demanded, letting go of Jesse momentarily in order to slip his arms around his waist instead. "Let me touch you like you touched them." Jesse felt Blaine's hands slipping lower and knew where this was going, stopping the hands before they passed his waistband.

"Whoa, buddy," Jesse forced Blaine to let go of him, holding him at a distance. "I think you've had too much to drink. Let's get you home."

"I don't wanna," Blaine insisted, trying to get his arms around Jesse again. "Dance with me, please? You're the only person I _like_ here."

"I'm the only person you _know_ here," Jesse corrected him. "Come on." He managed to grab on of Blaine's hands, lacing their fingers together so he couldn't slip out of his grasp as easily. "Let's go." He pulled Blaine towards the door, not missing the reluctance showing in Blaine's posture and how – more than once – Jesse was full-on pulling Blaine to get out of the building.

Blaine crashed into Jesse once they were outside, his head resting on Jesse's shoulder from behind that time. Jesse steered him over to a bench outside the bar, sitting him down and trying to ignore just how awkward it now felt when Blaine curled up in his lap. He knew why Blaine was doing it, knew the alcohol had gone to Blaine's head a bit more than they had both anticipated, but his words from before about wanting to touch Jesse were ringing through his head, sending him into a panic.

Blaine's breathing evened out, until it was heavy and slow. Jesse leaned his head against the back of the bench, one thumb brushing absently against Blaine's waist. He wasn't tired and his alcohol consumption had done more to wake him up than knock him out, but soon his breathing matched Blaine's, exhaling on every inhale and vice versa. He let his eyes fall shut, feeling the thudding of the music still inside, strangely calming here outside with the night air crisp on his face.

Blaine shifted in Jesse's lap, nuzzling to get closer. Jesse felt Blaine's lips brush over his collarbone but marked it off as a coincidence. Then Blaine did it again. Jesse's breath hitched.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly, slowly lifting his head back up, eyes adjusting quickly to the scarce illumination.

He didn't get an answer, but this time he felt Blaine press a deliberate kiss right above his collarbone. His breath hitched again, mouth open and coming out as a tiny gasp. Blaine seemed to curl into him, his arms encircling Jesse's waist, wandering fingers slipping under his shirt to touch his skin. He kissed the spot on Jesse's neck again, lips parted further this time, touching the tip of his tongue briefly to the skin before pulling back.

"Blaine," Jesse's tone was warning, but he didn't move. Blaine ignored him, drumming his fingers on Jesse's waist in time with the music still thudding inside, dragging his lips up Jesse's neck, humming softly as he did so. He shifted in Jesse's lap again, kneeling above him, when he reached Jesse's mouth and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips. Their eyes met, and Jesse saw that same hazed look that Blaine had worn inside.

"You want me," Blaine told him, almost matter-of-factly. "Your pupils are dilated." Then he kissed him, actually kissed him this time, open mouth pressed to Jesse's and moving against it sloppily, before instinct took over and Jesse angled himself to reciprocate. He was gentle, fingers brushing across Blaine's face and his hairline, brain still playing catch-up with the rest of his body, stuck somewhere back around when Blaine had first nuzzled against him.

But Blaine was having nothing of the gentle, hands squeezing and mouth forceful, the alcohol clearly making him bolder and more aggressive. Jesse felt Blaine's body shaking above him, trembling as a clumsy tongue tried to make its way into his mouth. The other boy was making these whining, needy noises, and then suddenly Blaine wasn't above him anymore but sitting across his lap, straddling him and grinding against him, and Jesse wondered how it had taken him nineteen years to find out what it feels to have another boy's arousal pressed to his, moving against him in ways that made coherent thoughts impossible. All he knew was that this felt _wonderful_ and that he'd definitely have to re-evaluate his own sexuality after this was over.

His relaxed posture stiffened as he began to move as well, touches no longer gentle and fleeting but hard and lingering. Their lips parted with a wet _smack_ing noise, and Jesse continued down Blaine's neck this time, feeding off of every breathy little whine the boy made. He let himself use his teeth, scraping them against soft skin, and Blaine moaned out his name, already scrabbling fingers seemingly more frantic to keep touching.

"Jesse," he repeated, and the tone of absolute bliss that fell off Blaine's lips, accompanied by Jesse's name, was what made Jesse stop. This wasn't how things were supposed to happen. Blaine wasn't supposed to end up rutting against his best friend, moaning his name while said best friend – who was more in control of his wits – led him on. It just wasn't fair.

"Blaine," his tone was commanding, hands leaving their place in Blaine's back pockets – _when had that even happened?_ – and pushing him away. "Blaine!"

The boy seemed too far gone to understand that Jesse wanted to stop, still moving against him and not noticing the change in behavior or the absence of Jesse's mouth on his neck. So Jesse did the only thing that made sense; he shoved Blaine onto the ground. He landed with a thud and Jesse winced, knowing that his tailbone was going to be bruised, but that seemed to shock him back to the world of the living, the world of the sane, the world where two best friends had just crossed some unspoken relationship boundary.

"What the fuck?" Blaine picked himself up, wincing. Jesse's cheeks were burning while he felt his heart throbbing in his groin, standing and wordlessly seizing Blaine by his forearm and dragging him back to his car.

"No, Jesse," Blaine pulled out of his grasp. "No, we're not just going to drive back to your place and pretend that nothing happened or blame it all on the alcohol. You can't run away from me like you did with Rachel."

Something in Jesse snapped, and he turned to face Blaine, arm swinging out before he could stop himself and punching Blaine square in the nose. Blaine staggered back, bleeding and clutching at his face, and Jesse regretted it instantly.

"I'm sorry," he surged forward, but Blaine held out an arm and took a step back, holding Jesse at bay.

"No you're not," he said thickly. "You're never sorry. You're not sorry that you broke Rachel's heart and you're not sorry that you betrayed twelve people who didn't deserve it and you're not sorry that you punched the one person who's always loved you no matter what, because it's easier to lash out than to admit to yourself that maybe you are wrong and maybe you are having a sexual identity crisis and maybe you can't just blow me off like you do every other problem in your entire life!"

"I swear to God, Blaine, I will leave you here if you don't shut the fuck up." Jesse's hands balled into fists again. "Get in the car and we'll fix your nose."

"No, I think I like it this way," Blaine was ranting now, the blood dripping down his face and making him look positively terrifying. "Because if it is broken and I don't get it fixed, at least I'll have proof that once upon a time the great Jesse St. James did acknowledge my existence before he ran away to California for good."

"Get in the car!" Jesse shouted, running his fingers through his hair and locking them there, beginning to panic.

"Make me!" Blaine shot back. "Oh, wait, you've already _broken my fucking nose_, so wouldn't want to add a broken arm to that or I could probably charge you with assault and get you put in jail. And while we're at it, how about providing a minor with alcohol? And all I have to do is make up some sob story about big, bad Jesse St. James touching me right where I didn't want it and you're labeled as a sexual predator for the rest of your life." He smirked in a way that was so like Jesse's that it was almost eerie, the blood making him look maniacal. "Thanks for buffing up in California. Anyone would say you could easily overpower a sexually frustrated teen like me."

"Shut up," Jesse hissed. "You wouldn't do that to me."

"Try me," Blaine challenged.

They stared at each other, Blaine's nose still dripping and Jesse's hands still curled into fists, breathing hard. The silence seemed to be alive with the tension, with the resentment, with the things still left unsaid until finally, Jesse broke it.

"Tell me what to do, then."

"Get me something to stop the bleeding with, first of all, you ass," Blaine demanded, and Jesse took that as his cue to unlock his car, ducking into the backseat to see if he had a box of tissues. Finding one, he made to get out of the car, but suddenly he was lying face-down across his backseat, Blaine lying on top of him, blood dripping onto the back of Jesse's neck. His body was suddenly hyper-sensitive, feeling each drop of blood pounding on his skin, feeling Blaine pressing him down with his hips, still hard, as an echo of what had already happened.

"You listen to me," Blaine's voice was soft, but still threatening. "I love you, Jesse. And I'm not just saying that as your friend, I actually mean it. I've loved you since middle school, idolized you and wanted to be just like you, and you never, never saw it. Why should you? I was just some stupid kid with a dick instead of a vagina, so what was I to the great Jesse St. James? But you know something? That stopped the minute you told me about what Shelby asked you to do, and that was the greatest and most freeing moment of my life. I finally had a reason to doubt you, and look where that's brought us."

Jesse tried to get up, to leave the car, but Blaine remained stubbornly on top of him, pinning him down. He punctuated this with a roll of his hips, wordlessly telling Jesse that he still wanted him.

"No excuses. I know I have Kurt and you have Rachel, current issues with both notwithstanding, but can you honestly tell me that everything that happened tonight was a mistake?"

"Yes," Jesse breathed, though his body ached for him to say no. The pressure on his shoulders from where Blaine was holding him tightened, the pressure further down achingly pleasant and making it hard to concentrate.

"Say it again."

"Yes," Jesse's voice came out more confidently that time, a harsh sound against Blaine's beautiful, rapid breaths and the way their heartbeats seemed to echo in the small space. A strangled little sob escaped from the boy pinning him down, a sob that went straight to Jesse's conscience, making him want to whisper, "no," over and over until the word lost its meaning, holding Blaine close and making him understand that it was okay.

"You don't mean that," Blaine insisted, lowering himself so that his head rested on Jesse's shoulder again. "You can't mean that. I love you."

"It was a mistake," Jesse argued. "I got excited dancing with those girls, and you were there. That's all it was." It was a ready-made excuse, one that dirtied Jesse's mouth with just how false it was. Those girls had meant nothing, barely getting a twitch of interest out of him, Blaine being the one to get his body to respond, just as it was now, no matter how much he willed it to stop.

"I don't want to lose you," Blaine's voice sounded so pitiful, so broken compared to how threatening and angry he had before, and Jesse willed the beautiful boy away before he was forced to hurt him even more. His pulse still throbbing in his groin, Jesse's hips moved on their own, pushing into the seat of the car, away from Blaine, in an unmistakable desire for friction.

"I don't understand," came Blaine's shaky voice in his ear, no doubt confused by the conflicting words and body language.

"Tomorrow," Jesse's voice came out in a low growl, "none of this happened. We were never friends, and I never did any of this."

With a show of strength that surprised them both, Jesse flipped their position, slamming Blaine into the back of the seat roughly, sitting up momentarily to close the still-open car door. Then hips found hips and moved together, frantic hands removing clothing and paying no heed to the fogging windows. The coppery tang of blood mixed with sweat when they kissed, leaving an unpleasant taste in both mouths, moans of pain and pleasure escaping Blaine's mouth when Jesse bumped his nose.

The car rocked when they moved together, the slick leather seats groaning in protest when they pushed against it. Neither knew what they were doing, one being completely inexperienced while the other only knew how to properly pleasure a woman, but the uninhibited pleading that fell from both lips was guide enough. Jesse catalogued every sound that Blaine made, every whispered confession, storing it away and memorizing where Blaine liked to be touched, fooling himself into thinking that it was for Blaine's benefit. He sent Blaine into complete sensory overload, worshipping his body until the boy was completely spent, hovering somewhere between bliss and exhaustion.

Only then did Jesse stop, his head resting on Blaine's chest and listening to his heart rate slow. It took the boy virtually no time at all to fall asleep, completely passed out and completely naked, lying in a pool of mixed bodily fluids and bearing a broken nose, in the back of Jesse's car.

Jesse didn't even bother wiping himself up; he went straight to work on Blaine and his car, talking quietly to himself to stave off his own exhaustion. He put his clothes back on, not caring about just how gritty and nasty he felt, dressing Blaine and then wiping down the windows, putting the car into gear and driving the sleeping boy all the way back to Westerville in the middle of the night.

Jesse hadn't planned on having sex with Blaine, just like he hadn't planned on falling in love with his best friend. He had always hated those movies, hated how everything worked out in the end because both characters loved each other enough to stay.

He wasn't running away. He was just electing to let them both go, so they could continue to loathe him in silence, taking it as his penance to waste away, never loving another, for no other will ever live up to the boy and girl who were perfect for Jesse St. James.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing that registered was his heartbeat.

He could feel it everywhere, pounding into every part of his body, drumming a rapid rhythm too rapid for someone who just woke up. His breathing didn't even make sense; he was taking shallow, painful breaths that seemed to burn whenever he inhaled through his nose.

The next thing that registered was the pain.

His nose hurt, inside and out, and it only took a slight twitch for him to feel just how much dried blood was inside his nostrils. The whole area around his nose felt sore, and when he reached a careful hand up to touch it, he felt a bandage and his head jerked away from his hand, a gasp of pain escaping from his lips.

There was more pain, he realized. His neck felt raw and had also hurt when he'd jerked his head away from his curious hand. Down his back he felt dull, aching pains like the ones he got when he sat in one position for too long, finally exploding at the base of his spine into something excruciating. A low moan escaped his lips this time, and he raised his hand to cover his eyes.

What the hell had happened to him?

He picked himself up, noticing that the pain didn't stop at his tailbone. There was a deeper pain coming from inside him, similar to the dull aches in his upper back, but there was something almost pleasant in how this particular hurt felt.

He blinked, looking around at his surroundings. He was in his dorm, in his bed, wearing the casual clothes he had changed into yesterday before going off to Akron with Jesse. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, could barely remember what had happened after drinking that beer at the club Jesse had taken him to. But he'd only had that one beer, right? He hadn't had any more, and he'd been in perfect control of himself, albeit a little loosened up.

His confused reflection stared back at him when he went to look in the mirror. His hair was wild and there was dried blood around his nose, bandage stretched across it no doubt to help hold it where it belonged as it healed from whatever had happened to it. His eyes traveled down his reflection, spotting a bruise near the top of his neck.

Hastily pulling aside the collar of his shirt, he stared at the side of his neck, stared at the line of bruises there, memories flooding back.

_He felt Jesse's lips on his neck, sucking each one of those bruises to life, both of them naked and rocking together. He had breathed out Jesse's name over and over, holding him down on top of him with hands running over the curve of Jesse's lower back, forcefully grabbing his ass and bucking his hips upward when Jesse pulled away momentarily and all but growled, "Blaine."_

Blaine's cheeks flushed at the memory, heart thudding, as if afraid someone would come in and hear his thoughts. As if by thinking, by remembering what had happened, someone else would be given access to these obviously repressed memories. He had to calm his breaths, forcing himself to sit back down on the edge of his bed, closing his eyes and letting himself become lost in thought.

It all came flooding back at once. He remembered getting coffee with Jesse, the drive out to Akron, how Jesse had started dancing with two girls at a club and something in him had snapped. He remembered the sudden desire to feel his friend pressed against him, to touch him and kiss him, how he'd given into that desire and ended up sitting in Jesse's lap as they moved against each other. He remembered how Jesse had pushed him away, remembered how they'd suddenly ended up in the backseat of Jesse's car.

But then what had happened? How had they ended up in the backseat in the first place, and how had he ended up back here in Westerville when logic would have him waking up in Jesse's arms in that same and probably sticky backseat?

He wondered what it would feel like to wake up in Jesse's arms. He gave himself over to imagination, feeling those strong, firm arms wrapped around him again, fingers brushing over his chest. The feel of Jesse's body angled against his own, perfectly aligned and all but fused together, stuck to one another with a sheen of sweat. It would be messy and it would be smelly, but they would be together.

So why was he here? Blaine opened his eyes, standing up and walking over to his mirror again. His confused reflection stared back at him, nose starting to throb with pain.

Ignoring it for the time being, Blaine unbuttoned his shirt, slowly peeling away the fabric and stepping inches away from the mirror, examining his now bared skin. His neck was completely red, splotches of purple here and there, the imprint Jesse's lips had left on his skin. His eyes traveled downward, taking note of the almost embarrassing number of little purple marks along his chest. Face flushing even more, he unbuttoned the top of his jeans, letting them fall to the floor, turning down the waistband on his boxers and feeling his breath hitch in his chest.

His skin was a nasty shade of red, hips bruised and angry marks standing out where his bones jutted out prominently. He brushed one of the angry marks gently with his fingers, breath hitching again and eyelids fluttering closed.

_"J-Jesse," he'd breathed out, watching as the older boy worked his way down his body, fingers squeezing and teeth scraping, tongue occasionally poking out to taste the salty skin. Jesse had held his hips down with an unbearably tight grip, mouthing at his skin and making him gasp and moan in response to what he was doing with his lips, with his tongue, with his teeth. Blaine had struggled weakly against Jesse's hold, half-wanting to draw him back up and press their bodies back together and half-wanting to just go along with whatever it was Jesse was doing to him. He'd cried out when Jesse's lips traveled lower, one hand fisting in his own hair while the other scrabbled at the leather seat, trying to find something to hold onto._

Blaine didn't dare pull his boxers down any further. Deciding that he didn't want to see, didn't want to know what other marks Jesse had left on him, he shivered, body suddenly registering just how cold the room was without any clothes on.

Which, of course, was when Wes decided to make his grand entrance.

"Oh, good, you're awake," the boy said as he slipped into Blaine's room unannounced and uninvited. Blaine jumped, yelling in protest and shock, hands fastening on the turned-down waistband of his boxers and yanking them up. Wes seemed completely unperturbed by Blaine's current state of undress, walking purposefully over to his desk and making a grab for something.

"Wes," Blaine fought to keep his voice even, "what the hell happened?"

"Shut up and take these," Wes pressed a glass of water and a bottle of pills into Blaine's hands. "How's your nose feeling?"

"Uh, horrible," Blaine sat down on the edge of his bed, placing the glass of water down on one of his bedposts as he unscrewed the top of the bottle of pills. He downed two with a swig of water, then tossed the pill bottle back to Wes, making a grab for one of his blankets to cover himself up.

"I gathered as much," Wes shrugged, setting the pills down on Blaine's desk again and plopping himself down in Blaine's desk chair. "You're welcome, by the way, for fixing it." Blaine reached up to touch his noise, wincing when his fingers brushed the tender area with a feather-light touch.

"You fixed my nose?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Hell yeah," Wes looked proud of himself. "I'm not all talk when I say I'm going to med school next year. I've picked up a few tricks from volunteering at the hospital, thank you very much. So you should be thanking me, actually, for saving you one extremely awkward trip to the local clinic at four in the morning."

"What are you talking about?" Blaine frowned at him.

"You," Wes pointed. "And how you turned up on campus at four in the morning completely passed out in a pool of nasty in the back of that Jesse kid's car. And just for the record, he looked like sex when I came down to meet him. And not the cover-of-Playgirl kind of sex, I'm talking the I-just-fucked-my-brains-out-and-drove-two-hours-and-let-the-smell-get-funky kind of sex." Wes waggled his eyebrows. "So. _Did_ Jesse fuck your brains out?"

"No," Blaine denied it as if by reflex. Wes just raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. Blaine was suddenly reminded of how Wes barged in on him in nothing but his underwear, getting an eyeful of all the marks Jesse had left along his body. "Okay, yes."

"And were you terrible at it?" Wes pressed for more information, now smirking. Blaine glared at him. "What? It's a fair question. He kind of looked like the world was ending, which means you're either a terrible lay or the best lay he's ever had. So what's the problem?"

"I didn't realize there was a problem," Blaine tugged the blanket tighter around his body, fingers clenching around the fabric. "Wes, I don't know what's going on. I don't even know how I got up here."

"David and I carried you," Wes explained. "Yeah, Jesse called both of us at four-freaking-A-M to come down and get you. Why he couldn't at least walk you up a flight of stairs is beyond me, but no. He wakes the two of us up and all but pleads with us to not wake you up. And then he books it on out of there as soon as we've got you out of the car, doesn't even bother to close the back door."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, you'd think he'd at least tell us why you have a broken nose, but no."

"So, essentially I just got fucked two different ways by the guys who was supposed to be my best friend," Blaine decided bitterly.

"If you want to put it that way," Wes shrugged. "Was he at least good at it?"

Blaine glared at him.

"What?"

"A little sympathy would be nice," Blaine sighed heavily. "This isn't exactly a speed bump here, Wes. We're talking a fucking deadly car crash."

"Fine, fine," Wes held up his hands as if in surrender. "No more stupid questions."

Blaine ignored him, making a grab for his phone and not caring that the blanket slipped down off his shoulder, showing off the bruises on his neck. Cursing under his breath, he pressed and held the number '4.' Nothing happened.

"Fucking speed dial," Blaine swore again, instead scrolling through his contacts to find the J's. He scrolled all the way through them, not seeing Jesse's name. So he scrolled back up, frowning when he still didn't see the boy's name. Thinking that maybe he had accidentally put him in under 'St. James' and never noticed, he scrolled through the S's, still unable to find the familiar name.

"Give me your phone," Blaine held out a hand, not bothering to cover himself back up when Wes turned to look at him, obviously eyeing his bruises. Wes handed it over, and Blaine quickly found the list of Wes's recent calls. He didn't see Jesse's name or even an unnamed number there, just a bunch of calls from Emma, Mom, and David. His own number showed up, the call made at 3:56 the previous night.

"Wait, he called you with my phone?" Blaine handed the phone back.

"Yeah," Wes nodded. "Why?"

"Fucking bastard," Blaine said angrily, seizing his own phone again and trying to dial Jesse's number from memory. "Fucking, fucking _bastard_."

"What's wrong?" Wes hovered half out of his seat, clearly wanting to do something to help. Blaine just flapped a hand at him, shutting him up. His phone started ringing, an unfamiliar voice picking up on the third ring.

"Sorry, wrong number," Blaine said quickly, hanging up and trying again.

It took him four tries, but finally he got the right number.

_"Hi, you've reached Jesse St. James,"_ the recorded voice said. _"I can't come to the phone right now, but leave a message and I'll get back to you shortly. If you're calling with a job offer, expect a response in no more than two hours. Thank you."_

There was a beep, signaling that the voice mail was recording, but Blaine didn't speak at first. Then, clearing his throat and finding his voice, he said, "Hey, Jesse, it's me. Uh, I don't really know what's going on, so please, _please_ give me a call. I really need to talk to you."

Wes was wearing a look that Blaine really, really didn't like when he hung up.

"What?" Blaine demanded, scowling at the boy.

"Nothing," Wes shrugged. "I mean… are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Blaine's tone was so sarcastic that the boys probably could have reached out and touched it if they'd wanted to. "I just had sex with my best friend and woke up to find myself with a broken nose and his number deleted from my phone. I'm just peachy."

"Blaine…" Wes started, actually getting up out of the chair and coming to sit on the bed next to Blaine. But Blaine just shook his head, motioning for the door.

"Can you leave now?"

Wes gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder, carefully avoiding all the little red marks, as he left the room. Blaine didn't move off his bed until he heard the door close. Letting the blanket drop from around his shoulders, he walked back over to the mirror, eyes raking over his own body again.

"What the hell did you do to me, Jesse?"

Turning away from the mirror, Blaine went over to his desk, turning on his laptop and spinning his desk chair around so he could sit. He tapped his fingers impatiently as he waited for the computer to turn on, immediately loading an internet browser the second his desktop screen popped up. Logging into facebook took him two tries, forgetting his own password the first time around.

He began typing Jesse's name in the search bar at the top of the page. Normally Jesse's name popped up as soon as he had typed in the 'J,' but this time he had typed in the boy's full name and received nothing. Groaning in frustration, Blaine went to his messages, knowing that there would be quite a few from Jesse there. But instead of seeing Jesse's headshot next to his messages, there was just the generic no-picture-available outline of a face, with no name beside it. Blaine clicked on one of the messages, realizing that the message itself was still there, but there was no way of clicking on the little blank face to get to Jesse's profile.

He tried everything. He searched Jesse's name twice, scrolled through all of his friends, went back through every single picture of the two of them only to realize that Jesse had been untagged in every single one. Desperate, he googled his friend's name, getting his facebook fanpage as a result. But when he clicked on the link, he got the message 'this page is no longer available.'

"You're a fucking bastard," he repeated his earlier curse. "You complete _bastard_. What the hell did you do?"

It didn't take a genius to figure it out. Jesse had de-friended him and then blocked him from seeing his profile. Even his fanpage had been blocked. So Blaine logged out of facebook, trying to see if he could at least get to the guarded version of the page people would see before sending a friend request.

That seemed to work. But it didn't do him much good; he couldn't send Jesse an anonymous message and Jesse's privacy settings made sure that the only thing he could see was generic information anyone could figure out if they thought about it long enough. No, it seemed as if facebook would not be giving Blaine any answers.

He slammed his laptop shut, which was, of course, the moment when his phone decided to ring. Not bothering to look and see who it was, Blaine dove for it, answering on the second ring and saying, "Jesse?"

"No, it's Mom!"

Great. She sounded pleased about something, and Blaine was in no mood to deal with his parents. It was bad enough that they paraded him around on holidays as their child prodigy, leader of the Warblers and almost top of his class (damn you, Wes), showing him off like they would a groomed poodle at a dog show.

"Can I call you back?" he asked, one hand reaching up to cover his eyes. "I'm kind of in the middle of… uh… something. Some… homework thing!"

"Oh, honey, it can wait, believe me." Well shit. His mom was excited about something. _Great._ "I'm putting you on speaker; your father's here too!"

Shit, now he had to deal with both of them? At once? They better be telling him they bought him a puppy. Or a house.

"Hello, Blaine," came his father's gruff voice. "Bet you're anxious to hear why we're calling."

"You have no idea." Blaine fought to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"You received a letter in the mail today," his mother all but squealed. "It's for you, so we haven't opened it, but –"

"It's from UCLA," his father butted in. "So we wanted to ask for your permission to open it to see what it says."

Blaine's cheeks, already pink with embarrassment and exasperation, flared red. His heartbeat picked up and an audible groan escaped his lips before he could stop it. He had forgotten all about his college applications and how acceptance or rejection letters would be coming soon. Of all days to hear from UCLA, it had to be the day after his best friend who attended UCLA had fucked him in the backseat of his car.

"Yeah, sure," he said, voice monotone. "Open it."

He heard the rustling of paper and his mother's excited squeal again. Then silence, then another squeal, this time accompanied by his father's deep laughter.

"You got in!"

He had figured as much.

"And they're offering you grant money! Oh, Blaine, honey, you'll be all set with this!"

"H-how much grant money?" he dared to ask, wondering if it was a significant enough amount to affect their bias towards where he continued his education. It wasn't like the Andersons were poor or needed to worry about college debt, but saving money is always a plus no matter who you are.

"Close enough to a full ride for me," decided his father. "We'll only be paying about three-thousand out of pocket per semester, which, all things considered, is not bad at all. Join building staff your sophomore year and you're looking at a free education."

"Great, wonderful," his voice was still monotone, not matching his parents' excitement in the slightest. "Look, that's great news and thanks for calling, but I wasn't kidding when I said I was in the middle of homework stuff. So I'll talk to you later."

"Keep those grades up!" his mother reminded him cheerfully before hanging up. He tossed the phone back onto his pillow, groaning loudly and fingers fisting in his hair.

"Why does the universe hate me?" he mumbled, collapsing into a little ball on his bed.

Of all days to get accepted to UCLA, it had to be today. He remembered touring the campus with Jesse during his sophomore year, Jesse's junior, both of them taken in by the big-city lifestyle and the fact that the college was in California. Even though neither would admit it, both were looking forward to college, hoping that they'd both get into UCLA so that they could room together once Blaine was a sophomore. And even though they'd promised not to let each other get in the way of college choice, both knew that it would only enhance the experience to be at college with your best friend.

Well, now that could be a reality. Jesse and he could be going to the same college, maybe even taking some of the same classes. They could go to parties together, be each other's wingman, one dragging the other back to his dorm after getting drunk. They'd even toyed with the idea of forming a two-man tribute band and trying to play gigs around campus, knowing that it would serve as a great creative outlet, especially if Blaine followed his then-plan to become a history professor.

Neither had counted on this, obviously.

Smirking in a way that was so similar to Jesse that it frightened even himself, Blaine picked up his phone again, dialing Jesse's number and waiting for the answering machine to pick up. Voice heavy with savage pleasure, he left another message.

"Oh, hi Jesse, it's Blaine. I noticed you blocked me on facebook so I couldn't get ahold of you that way either, you sneaky cowardly bastard. But guess what! I just got accepted into UCLA. That's right, we'll be on the same campus next year, so just _try_ to avoid me then. You'll regret it once I decide to shout across the green how big of an asshole you are if you don't pick up and talk to me."

He hung up, still smirking.

The satisfaction lasted for about ten seconds. Then he just felt miserable. Again.

A knock on his door jerked him out of his misery. Scowling at the door, as if daring the person on the other side to knock again, Blaine just tugged his blanket around his shoulders again, keeping perfectly silent. Another polite rap, then seconds later an impatient pounding.

"I know you're in there," came David's voice. "Let me in."

"No." Blaine didn't mention that Wes had no doubt left the door unlocked and that he could just barge in if he so desired.

"Blaine, I'm serious, let me in," David repeated.

"I am too," Blaine insisted. "Wes already came in. Go talk to him if you want an update on how miserable I am."

David tested the doorknob, then came right on in. Blaine glared at him, but David was smiling slightly. Then his nose wrinkled, hand going up to his face.

"It reeks in here," he announced, eyes immediately trailing along Blaine's bed. "Haven't you showered yet?"

"None of your business," Blaine clutched the blankets closer, feeling like a small child with overbearing parents. "Can I help you with something? Or did you just come to ask me stupid questions?"

"No, actually, I do have a reason for talking to you," David closed the door, nose still scrunched up as he plopped himself down on the edge of Blaine's bed. "It's about Kurt."

"Oh God," Blaine moaned, folding in on himself and burying his face between his knees. Kurt was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now. No matter what had passed between him and Jesse, Blaine still cared for Kurt very much and, ideally, would get back together with him if Kurt ever decided to forgive him. How he would explain the bruises on his neck… well, he'd figure that out later.

"Yeah, um, he called me yesterday to ask about you," David informed him, resting a hand on Blaine's back and moving it in a small circle. "He wanted to know about you and Jesse and if his friend was just jumping to conclusions when she said Jesse had planned your break up, whatever that all means. But I set him straight, so I think he's starting to come around."

"When did he call?" Blaine asked, head still between his knees, speaking into his sheets.

"Yesterday, early evening."

"And you couldn't have told me this before I went off to get drunk?"

"I thought you could use a night out," David defended himself automatically. "I was going to tell you once you got back, which is basically right now."

"So you're telling me that Kurt is willing to speak to me the day after I made the worst mistake of my entire life?" Blaine looked up at David, locking eyes with the other boy as if daring him to argue. "I don't know if you've noticed, but there is proof of what went on!" He shrugged the blanket off his shoulders, showing off his neck. "How the hell am I supposed to explain to Kurt that I fucked my best friend three days after we broke up?"

"I thought he fucked you," David grinned.

"Shut up," Blaine sent a poorly-aimed punch in David's direction, missing the other boy completely.

"Whatever," David shrugged. "But you're smart. You'll figure it out." He stood up, pointing towards the door to the en-suite bathroom. "Now shower before it's too late and the smell's here to stay."

Deciding that David was probably right and that showering would be a really, really good idea, Blaine threw off his blanket and staggered over to the bathroom. Making sure to lock both doors before kicking off his boxers, Blaine stared at his now completely naked form in the mirror, breathing heavily as he let his eyes look below his waist.

There were marks there too. There were two identical bruises on either side of his hips, probably from Jesse's fingers pinning him down, or maybe those had been from when he'd ended up on his stomach, Jesse holding him tightly while he took his virginity. Flushing furiously and feeling the blush travel from his face down his neck, Blaine reached behind himself, breath hitching when his fingers pressed against his ass.

He started to turn, wanting to see what he looked like from the back, but his stomach started churning. Suddenly he was on all fours on the floor, crawling towards the toilet, reaching it just in time to vomit into the bowl. Clutching the sides of the bowl desperately, he kept vomiting until nothing was left and he was just dry-heaving into the toilet. His heaves turned into coughs and his coughs turned into sobs, until he was rocking himself back and forth on the bathroom floor, crying like he hadn't allowed himself to since he'd been eleven years old.

He felt stupid and unbearably self-conscious. He shouldn't be crying over Jesse; he shouldn't be crying at all. He had no right to be upset, because – and now the memory came back to him, of how he had been the one to keep pushing when Jesse said no – it was all his fault. Jesse hadn't done anything he hadn't wanted, with the grand exception of dumping him off in Westerville. But what had happened before that had been all his fault.

It was the guilt that got him up and into the shower. Guilt made him turn on the water, not caring when the showerhead sprayed freezing cold water on him, not caring that his body was shivering violently or that he hadn't flushed his vomit down the toilet. No, what he needed right now was to scrub away every trace of Jesse on him, to find some sort of cream to make bruises go away, find a way to make sure nobody else ever found out about this.

He could fool himself into thinking that he was doing it for Jesse, but he was really doing it for himself. He'd been the one who forced himself on the other, the one who fooled Jesse into thinking that it was a good idea. Shivering even when the water temperature shifted to comfortably warm, Blaine wrapped his arms around himself, closing his eyes against fresh tears.

Did this make him a sexual predator? How many lines had been crossed last night? Was Jesse ignoring him for his own benefit rather than Blaine's? Had Jesse cut contact because he felt taken advantage of, not because he was an insensitive asshole?

Not caring that the water was still running or that he had no towel, Blaine ran out of the shower, fumbling with the lock on the door to his room and making a mad dash for his phone again. He dialed Jesse's number again, growling in impatience as he waited for the answering machine again.

"Jesse," his voice came out high-picked and panicky. "I am so, so sorry. Just… ignore that other message. I wasn't thinking. I'm so sorry, Jesse, I never meant to take advantage of you like that. I didn't mean for any of that to happen and I'm just so, so sorry. Please, please call me. Please. I need to talk to you about this. Please. I'm sorry."

Then he went back into the bathroom, dripping all over the floor, scrubbing himself so hard that the skin that wasn't already red was soon a matching shade. It hurt, and the way one side of his neck started to sting made him think that he had actually broken the skin, but he didn't stop. He rubbed his entire body until it felt raw, until he was satisfied that he had taken away every trace of the night before.

The walk of shame came next.

At Dalton, the walk of shame was completely different from walking out of someone else's dorm while the hallway cat-called at you. The walk of shame happened when you went to Wes's room in sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt and asked him to patch you up. Nobody was sure why everyone always dressed casually – because logic would have you wear your uniform so nobody would know – but Blaine supposed it had something to do with the comfort the clothes offered.

So Blaine did just that. Dressed in an oversized T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that proclaimed his inclusion in Dalton's fencing team, he walked down the hallway to Wes's room, head bowed and curls free of their usual tight hold, flopping down over his forehead as if trying to hide him from view. He got a few wolf-whistles and one offered fist-bump, but nothing spectacularly significant.

Wes's door was open, so Blaine just walked in, saying, "I need you to fix my neck," as he did so. Wes had been pouring over some random textbook, but he looked up immediately, ushering Blaine in further and jumping up to close the door.

"Shirt off," Wes instructed, so maybe that was why everyone wore T-shirts. Buttons and ties were too much trouble if you were just going to take them both right off. Blaine felt his face heat up under Wes's inspection, shrinking back slightly when the other boy frowned.

"You somehow managed to start bleeding since I last saw you," Wes informed him, quickly pulling out a large red case out from under his bed. He snapped the case open, taking out a tub of some kind of cream and a box of band-aids. "Let's fix that one first."

That was when Blaine realized why everyone went to Wes rather than figure out how to deal with embarrassing hickeys on their own. Wes wasn't patronizing and if he said anything, it was so matter-of-fact that he might have been commenting on the weather. His touch was light and his gaze was never harsh, unless he found something surprising, in which case he just looked confused.

The fact that he had no problem at all handing Blaine extra band-aids and a condom when he declared himself finished probably had something to do with it too.

"Thanks, Wes," Blaine said as he pulled his shirt back over his head, feeling the fabric stick to whatever ointment or cream or whatever Wes had put on his bruises.

"No problem," Wes smiled at him. "Is there anywhere else that needs attending?" His eyes flicked pointedly to Blaine's waist.

"Uh… no thanks," Blaine blushed again.

"Just doing my job," Wes held up his hands as if in surrender, still grinning. "You come back if you change your mind or if you decide your neck needs more help, okay?"

"I will," Blaine promised. "Uh, Wes? Do me a favor and not tell anyone about this, please?"

"When have I ever been one to gossip?" Wes raised an eyebrow. "Honestly, you boys come to me whenever there's the slightest problem, from a paper cut to a STD scare, and you honestly feel the need to ask me to keep my mouth shut?" He shook his head. "It's part of the job, Blaine. Resident-health coordinator confidentiality."

"Thanks," Blaine repeated, managing to produce a small smile. Wes pressed a small tube of whatever he had used on his neck into Blaine's hand, saying, "I know you don't want to, but take care of your nether regions, okay? You'll thank me later."

"Whatever you say," Blaine said, waving and dropping the offered condom back into the red case before leaving. He wouldn't need _that_ any time soon.

His phone was ringing when he got back to his room. He grabbed it, once again, without looking to see who was calling, but managed not to say Jesse's name this time. "Hello?"

"Hi, Blaine."

It was Kurt. _Fuck._ He was so not ready to talk.

"So, um, I talked to David yesterday," Kurt sounded nervous. Blaine was mentally cursing, wishing that the poor boy could just stay mad at him for a few more days. He probably deserved as much. But then again, after what he'd done last night, it was no wonder the universe was screwing with him. "And, uh, he told me that I was being an idiot. So I guess I'm just really sorry for blowing up at you like that."

"Yeah, yeah, me too," Blaine fought to keep himself from asking Kurt if they could talk later. He owed Kurt this much. "Look, Kurt, I said some terrible things to you, so you had every right to be mad at me."

"You did say some bad things," Kurt agreed. "But, Blaine, I did too. We both made mistakes. And, um, I don't want to lose you to our first fight. I… I think I might love you."

_Fuck._

"Um, should I be worried that you're not talking?"

"N-no, Kurt, no," Blaine said hastily. "I'm just… I mean, you caught me off guard with that."

"You don't have to say it back," Kurt's voice was timid. Blaine knew the boy was wishing he could take back his words, save them for a time when they weren't two cities apart and talking on the phone.

"I want to," Blaine admitted. "It's just… I want to be sincere when I say it, you know? Not because I feel obligated to say it. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," was all he got in response. Clearly Kurt regretted speaking up in the first place.

"I really care about you," Blaine cursed himself for not being able to say another simple four-letter word instead. He'd confessed his love for Jesse last night, so why should Kurt be any different? He loved Kurt, didn't he? So why couldn't he say it?

_Because you don't want to rape him,_ the voice came unbidden into his head, causing his breath to hitch. Biting his lip painfully, Blaine forced himself not to dwell on what had happened with Jesse while, at the same time, trying to convince himself that it hadn't been like that. Jesse had been the one to fuck him, so it had to have been consensual, right?

"Blaine?"

Kurt's voice shook him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah? Sorry."

"No, it's okay. Um, maybe I could come up to Westerville later? We could talk?"

"No!" he said quickly. Too quickly and too harshly, he realized too late. "I mean, God, I'm making such a mess of things. I'm so sorry, Kurt. I'm just… my head's in about fifteen different places right now. And I really hate to bring Jesse into things, but he and I kind of… got into a fight yesterday. A really big… slightly physical fight."

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked instantly. "What did he do?"

"No, I'm fine," Blaine lied. "But he punched me in the face, so my nose is kind of messed up."

"Bastard," Kurt repeated Blaine's earlier word, but it was lost on him. What had he just said? That Jesse had punched him in the face? Where had that come from? He closed his eyes, trying to remember, thinking back to before they had ended up in Jesse's backseat. His mind played him a scene of them fighting, yelling, of Jesse punching him, then of himself making empty threats to call the authorities.

"Blaine?"

"Yeah? Sorry."

"You sound really messed up, no offense," Kurt told him bluntly. "So I'll, um, let you go. Take care of yourself. Call me later?"

"Of course," Blaine promised.

It was as if that one little memory had changed everything. It didn't matter that he might have forced Jesse into doing something and it didn't matter that maybe it was all his fault. No, suddenly it was all Jesse's fault again, because Jesse had punched him in the face rather that own up to his own insecurities. He hadn't been man enough to talk about his feelings, so instead he reverted back to instinct, first punching Blaine and then fucking Blaine.

It was all Jesse's fault, once again.

Which was why Blaine felt no guilt hating him. It took him about a week, but he finally managed to piece together the entire night, remembering with painful clarity how Jesse had said, _"Tomorrow, none of this happened. We were never friends, and I never did any of this,"_ before slamming him into the back of the seat and proceeded to fuck him. Those words showed his true intent. He had meant for things to end like this, for them to never see one another again after that night.

And once he got over hating himself for it, Blaine had to admit that it had been a rather spectacular way to lose his virginity. Jesse had done things to him that he hadn't even fathomed were possible, touching him in places that made him react so strongly that his face flushed just from remembering. And if Jesse hadn't insisted on being an ass about it after the fact, Blaine would have him here, right now, getting down on his knees and begging Jesse to do it all again.

He waited until the bruises had faded before getting together with Kurt. They made the two-hours apart thing work, meeting halfway on weekends. It wasn't ideal and it was far from perfect, but they made it work. Or, at least, Blaine thought they were.

"I don't want to do this anymore," Kurt told him one day, looking anywhere but at his face.

"What do you mean?" Blaine's hold on Kurt's hand tightened.

"You're different," Kurt still couldn't look at him. "Before we broke up the first time, you were all… handsy. You weren't afraid to touch me in public. You'd kiss me just because you could. But now I'm the one who leans in and gets a cheek instead, and we haven't done anything but hold hands for weeks."

"Oh," Blaine didn't argue. He knew it was true.

"Did I do something?" Kurt asked, finally turning to look at him. "Was it because I said I loved you? You don't have to be with me just because you think you have to."

"I haven't said it back?" Blaine was taken aback. He'd thought for sure he'd told Kurt plenty of times that he loved him. But now, looking back, all those times he'd only said it in his mind, thought it so hard that he could feel the words on his tongue, but instead he'd told Kurt how special he was, how beautiful he was, how lucky he was to have him.

"No," Kurt confirmed, looking down at the ground. "I thought we were okay, but if we're not, then maybe we should just break up."

"Do you want to break up?" Blaine asked, needing to know if Kurt truly wanted to call it quits with him, or if it was just frustration at their lack of physical time together, their lack of physical intimacy that Jesse had inadvertently caused.

"I want… you," Kurt seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "The old you. The one that wasn't afraid to touch me and who could tell me that he loves me just by looking at me. Now I just think we're stuck with each other because we're the only gay kids the other knows." He let go of Blaine's hand, taking a step away. "You're going to California in the fall. It's time for you to leave Ohio, and I think it's best if you leave me behind, too."

Blaine didn't say anything. Kurt didn't say anything more.

And that was that.

Losing Kurt didn't hurt as much as Blaine had thought it would. In all honesty, he'd been losing him since the day Jesse had taken him out for coffee. There were too many secrets involved to expect the relationship to last, and Blaine had known – even if he wouldn't admit it – that it had only been a matter of time. Now that time was up, and they both needed to let go and move on.

So he left Ohio in the fall, left for California without a second thought. And for that short week that was freshman orientation, he was happy again. He made friends and felt free to be himself. He let his curls grow out and started wearing jeans everywhere. He kissed strangers in nightclubs and held hands with his roommate when they explored the campus and was the favorite of his resident assistant within three short hours of arriving.

It was perfect.

Then classes started. Blaine had changed his mind, backing out of being a history major and instead deciding to focus on music. The classes weren't terribly challenging and it wasn't like he had horrible professors, it was just strange, knowing that any moment he could walk into the practice rooms to find Jesse coming out of one. He could run into the other at any time, whether he was prepared or not.

He wasn't purposely staying in the music building just to see Jesse. Not at all. He also hadn't tried out for the musical's pit in the hopes of seeing Jesse onstage during rehearsals. When he found someone another boy who thought forming a two-man tribute band was cool, he definitely didn't stick up flyers in the upperclassmen's dorms to get Jesse's attention. And that day he spent a full thirteen hours in the cafeteria? Jesse had nothing to do with it.

Blaine found solace in music on days that all his failed efforts started to get to him. He spent hours in the free practice rooms, playing anything that came into his head. More than once he'd been interrupted by a frustrated classmate, telling him that his time was up. He couldn't help it; he got lost in the music and couldn't stop once he'd started.

Then came the day he overheard someone in the room next to him, recognizing the concerto as one of Jesse's favorites. Heart hammering, Blaine pressed his ear against the separating wall, just barely able to hear the person next door. He wasn't supposed to be able to hear at all, but he'd cracked his window open and he supposed that helped.

When the person stopped playing, Blaine launched himself at his own piano, pounding out one of his favorite pieces as loudly as he possibly could. He didn't bother to stop and find out if the person next door was actually listening, just kept playing, eyes closed and heart hammering, until the piece was over.

He was met with silence. Then the person next door started playing again, louder this time. Blaine supposed that whoever this was had cracked their window open too.

They played like this, back and forth to one another, for a good two hours. Then, knowing that his time was up, Blaine left the room, smile on his face, excited to see who this mysterious person was.

That was when he spotted him. Jesse St. James, coming from a door further down the hall, flipping through sheet music as he continued walking. Blaine's breath caught in his chest, heart pounding harder than he'd been pounding on that piano, voice cracking when he managed to say, "Jesse. Hi."

Jesse looked up, panic written all over his face. They stood in silence for a good few moments, just staring at each other. Blaine had a slight smile on his face while Jesse's mouth hung open. One of his papers slipped to the floor, but he didn't bother to stoop to pick it back up.

Then he made a run for it. Jesse turned tail and ran back down the hallway, swiping his ID card into some slot on the wall and disappearing back into the door he'd come through. Blaine tore after him, tugging at the handle of the door once it had closed, not realizing that it was a faculty-only staircase. He tried swiping his own ID, but the light turned red and it made a buzzing noise, as if telling him no.

So he ran. He ran to the nearest staircase, almost falling twice in his haste to get to the exit. He couldn't see Jesse anywhere in the entrance hall, so he left the building, standing in the middle of the walkway, looking for the familiar mop of curls.

Jesse was nowhere to be seen.

Scowling and cursing under his breath, Blaine made the trek back up to his now vacated practice room to retrieve his bag. He picked up Jesse's dropped paper, realizing that it was the first page of the sheet music for the song _I'm Alive_. Blaine opened the door to his practice room, only to suddenly be face to face with someone he'd never seen before.

"Hi," the boy said, smiling brightly. "Was it you who was playing in here before?"

"Yeah," Blaine nodded uncertainly, but then, remembering how he'd been playing opposite his neighbor, grinned and repeated, "Yeah! Hey! That was you?"

"Guilty," the boy chuckled. "I'm Joel."

"Blaine," he held out a hand and Joel shook it. "Sorry, I just though I saw someone I used to know." He stepped around Joel to pick up his bag, stuffing Jesse's sheet music inside.

"You on your way out now?" Joel asked, his own bag already slung over his shoulder. "Want to go grab coffee?"

Blaine considered his offer. Joel seemed nice, and it wasn't like he was bent on being antisocial just because Jesse had made a mad dash when he'd seen him. So why not live a little, trick himself into thinking that getting coffee with a boy was a giant up yours to Jesse?

"That's be lovely," Blaine smiled warmly, letting Joel usher him out of the room. Their hands bumped together three times on the way out of the building.

Blaine hadn't intended for anything to happen after that initial coffee. But he found that he actually genuinely liked this boy. Joel was nice, two years older than Blaine, with a head of curls that rivaled Jesse's. He and Blaine somehow managed to talk about everything from music to postmodern literature to their romantic history, the latter being a topic Blaine found himself surprisingly open about. He told Joel all about Jesse and Kurt, pointedly not mentioning that his Jesse was the Jesse St. James that went to their school.

It was nice, getting it all off his chest. And if he ended up back in Joel's dorm room, screaming Jesse's name while the other boy fucked him, no big deal, right? Joel didn't mind, declaring that it was healthy to have sex, to get all those pent-up feeling out, and not to worry if he called Blaine 'Danny' if there ever was a next time.

He went to the admissions office at the end of the semester, asking if they could help him get ahold of Jesse St. James. He told them that he just needed his campus mailbox number, nothing more. The woman behind the desk smiled and nodded, searching through her master list of names. Then she made a confused, "huh," sound.

"I'm sorry, honey, but his name's not here," she told Blaine, shaking her head. "Can't tell you why, though. I know who he is, and he should be here." She started typing something into the computer, frowning in concentration. Then her mouth opened in a little 'o' and she turned back to Blaine, saying, "He transferred."

"What?" Blaine leaned closer, urgency in his voice when he added, "When?"

"The end of this semester, effective immediately," she informed him. "He's going up to the Big Apple instead."

After politely thanking the woman for her help, Blaine left the office. He didn't let himself curse until he was locked in his dorm, and then he punched the wall so hard he left a dent, cursing Jesse for doing this, for leaving right when he'd thought there might be a chance to fix things.

It seemed as if they just weren't destined to be together, and for Blaine, always a hopeless romantic no matter how often he had meaningless hate sex with that kid whose name starts with J, the thought left him completely devastated. But he was nothing if not determined, so Blaine decided then and there that no matter what happened from this point on, he would force Jesse to talk to him eventually. Jesse owed him that much.


	3. Chapter 3

_Just a quick note: this is the final chapter!_

* * *

New York City living was far from what Jesse had imagined.

For one thing, the transfer dorms at NYU were kind of terrible. It was him living on a floor full of other misplaced teens-and-early-twenty-somethings, most of whom had never set foot in the big city before. Jesse's roommate was a boy from South Dakota who had come out in the hopes of becoming a physician while partaking in the big city lifestyle before going back to his small town.

So instead if being surrounded by theatre-savvy hopefuls who knew how to dress themselves, Jesse was stuck with a ragtag bunch of kids who walked around like chickens with their heads cut off.

It wasn't so bad once classes started. Jesse made sure to introduce himself to all of his professors and found that he much preferred the classroom full of third-year students to his hallway full of transfers. He joined the drama league the second he found out that such a thing existed and made friends with as many seniors as possible. If he wanted to turn himself into the big man on campus after only one year, he had to get in with the right people.

And he found that once he did have friends that weren't scared of the subway and weren't afraid to go out after dark, New York City living was kind of awesome.

He requested a room transfer when one of his friends from that year's musical told him they had a free bed in their apartment. He got in with the group that snagged cheap Broadway tickets once a month. He rubbed shoulders with famous Broadway actors and somehow managed to become a familiar face around the TKTS booth, so familiar that they offered him a job. And balancing a job and an education proved to be one of he easiest things in the world, because he actually cared about both and therefore made sure to make time for both.

The one thing missing from this almost perfect situation? A steady romantic relationship.

To be fair, he wasn't exactly looking for one. He wasn't interested in any of his classmates and he just didn't have time to work dating into his busy schedule. He'd accidentally slept with his old RA that one night he came back drunk (and her continued insistence that it was the best lay of her life may have been another deciding factor for the room change) and he'd somehow managed to get propositioned by some incredibly handsome swing from a random Broadway show he'd seen, but nothing more lasting than either of those. It just wasn't a priority. He didn't need a girlfriend or a boyfriend. He was perfectly happy with where he was right now.

Okay, no, that was a lie.

Because he was not perfectly happy. Far from it, in fact. Because while he'd spent his whole life dreaming of the day when he would move to New York City, he hadn't come here of his own free will. He'd run away from California, and even though he'd been planning on transferring to Tisch anyway, that didn't mean he couldn't feel guilty about it.

But he was Jesse St. James. He had never been the type to dwell on guilt, but this time was different. This time he had not one, but two fatal mistakes to look back on and regret. Because while his reputation as a heart breaker certainly was no bad thing, Jesse had let his reputation and his own fear of confrontation own him and cause him to break hearts of the two people he'd ever truly loved.

Running away was easy. It was easy to pretend that nothing was wrong and to keep your past hidden from your new friends. But with that came paranoia. And in Jesse's case, that paranoia caused him to dream about two small, beautiful young people finding him in New York, confronting him about what he had done, and finally letting him see firsthand the kind of hurt he had caused.

New York was a big city, but the theatre community was all connected. Everyone knew somebody who knew somebody else, so it really was only a matter of time before one or both of them found their way here.

But God dammit if he wasn't going to enjoy every moment of this city life until that happened.

Sometimes when he was in a brooding mood, he thought about the two of them. He tried to imagine where they were now, what they were doing, who they were with. Rachel would be in her first year of college, but her name hadn't shown up anywhere in Tisch's register. Maybe she'd gone to Marymount or even Julliard. But she was always successful in his little daydreams, always making something of her life. She was always pursuing her Broadway dreams. He couldn't bear the thought of her staying stuck in Ohio, maybe going back to teach music. No, he had decided that Rachel Berry was going to be a Broadway star, and he would continue to believe that until proven otherwise.

Blaine was harder. Even though they'd been best friends, Jesse still could never really peg Blaine with one specific future. He knew that Blaine had gone out to California for music in the end, but was he still there now? Had he gone back to Ohio? Had he switched majors? And most importantly: was he okay?

Because yes, ladies and gentlemen, Jesse St. James has a heart. He still cared for the two individuals he betrayed and still wondered if leaving them to despise him from a distance was a good idea. But every time those musings passed unbidden into his mind, he quickly distracted himself. He couldn't bear the thought of his decisions not working in their favor.

The hardest was imagining either of them with someone else. Even though he had no right to do so, Jesse sometimes imagined his future with one of them. The thought of someone else swooping in, being intimate with either one of them, made Jesse's blood boil.

But that was his penance for causing such harm to come to two such perfect individuals. He was destined to be alone while both of them - he hoped - were destined to find their fairy tale romance.

Two and a half years of wondering, and college was over. He was suddenly in New York City for something other than his education. He was finally here for his career, able to audition without worrying about having to take a semester off if he got the role. His dream of having his name up on a marquee was suddenly tangible.

Except things weren't that easy. Things were never easy, he learned, going from audition to audition, being told for one part he was too confident while for the other he needed to be more confident in himself. He was told to bulk up, then to slim down. There was no shortage of hopefuls, so directors could easily find someone who looked and sounded the part.

It was unbelievably frustrating. His job working as a promoter wasn't paying his rent, so he made an investment in his future and went to bartending school. Desperate to keep his work as closely related to his intended future as possible, Jesse got a job at Joe's Pub, serving drinks and food to all the patrons during gigs. It was nice, watching those who made it into the business singing with their friends in such a relaxed atmosphere.

It was a little painful too, because he still hadn't landed an audition and was constantly watching others being what he wanted to become. But he knew he would make it eventually, and if he could hang with famous people at work, then so much the better. At least this way he would be a familiar name when he made his big break.

He had this same attitude when the Broadway actress Grace Kumon was booked for a gig. She was an up-and-coming young star, only a year older than Jesse. He was working the night of her show, and was completely enamored with her after just one song. He gave her a free drink when her set was over, mixing it himself and presenting it to her like one would present a Tony Award.

"A cocktail, for the lady of the night," he said, handing her the fruity concoction with a smile. "And may I say that it was a treat to be working during your show."

"Thank you," she said warmly, looking at his name tag and adding, "Jesse. Are you an actor too?" She began sipping the drink, teeth clenching around the straw in a smile.

"Yes," he answered without hesitation. "Though my last audition wouldn't have told you that." He shrugged and laughed, trying to be nonchalant about the fact that his life had been put on hold thanks to the fact that he was actually quite the failure when it came to a theatre career outside of college.

"You'll get there," Grace assured him, giving him a gentle pat on the arm. Her hand stilled, settling there for a moment, before she squeezed it slightly and looked away.

She was still hanging around when Jesse clocked out for the night, mumbling to one of the other bartenders about some show or another, but she looked up when he started heading for the door, excusing herself from that conversation and asking him, "So what's your train?"

"The N," Jesse answered, knowing what she meant immediately.

"Uptown?" she guessed, for that was where quite a few aspiring actors took up residence.

"Astoria," he grinned, matching her laugh when she said that she, too, lived in Astoria. They took the same train home, sitting closer together than necessary, Jesse telling her all about his failed auditions. It was almost therapeutic, getting it all out there, how he was frightened that he'd never make it, how he was beginning to doubt himself for the first time. She listened attentively, telling him not to give up, that he would one day make it, that she believed in him.

She kissed him on the cheek when they went their separate ways after getting off the train. Jesse was all set to write it all off has a fun story to tell his roommates, which was when he realized that she'd slipped her phone number into the outside compartment of his bag.

He hadn't planned on calling her, but when he actually got a call back the next day, he found that the pull to tell not just someone, but _her_was irresistible. So he did, calling her and leaving a message when he got her voicemail.

Ten minutes and one phone call later, and he found himself sitting outside the Marriott Starbucks, grinning when she came out of the stagedoor and made a beeline for him.

Jesse wasn't entirely sure what he was doing or what he wanted with Grace. It was nice, having someone he could start fresh with, nice to hold hands with someone when he walked down the crowded streets of Manhattan. And unlike most of the girls Jesse had found himself drawn to during college, Grace was perfectly fine not having sex. In fact, after they'd been officially dating for a week, she confessed that she was saving herself for marriage, showing him the purity ring she wore around a chain on her neck.

They never talked about sex, and not just because Grace had nothing to tell, unlike Jesse. It was because sex had landed him in the mess he still hadn't quite figured out, lost him a boy he might have even loved, so Jesse was perfectly happy to not fuck up another relationship because he wanted just that: to fuck. They settled into a comfortable, chaste relationship, Jesse careful to keep his hands – which had a tendency to wander – in check, and to always kiss her on the cheek.

Two months later found Grace confronting him about just that.

"Why haven't you kissed me?" she demanded, her tone light but a frown on her face.

"What?" Jesse was taken aback. They were supposed to be critiquing each other's monologues and getting a pizza, not examining the intricacies of their (nonexistent) physical relationship.

"You haven't kissed me," Grace explained, sitting down next to him on his rather small sofa, her hand covering his. "We've been together for two months and you've never kissed me. A proper kiss, I mean."

"I didn't realize you wanted one," Jesse admitted, leaning in. "I'd be happy to oblige if that's the case."

"No," Grace shook her head. "I mean, yes, I would very much like to kiss you, but I'm not going to." She looked down at her lap, then back up at him. "I'm going to break up with you."

"What did I do?" Jesse asked automatically, so used to being the problem that it came as a reflex at this point.

"Exactly," Grace looked at him almost wistfully. "Jesse, I love what we have. I love that I feel safe with you, that I trust you, that you've never tried to push me into anything, but that's not you."

"Well excuse me for being a gentleman," Jesse backtracked, instantly on the defense.

"I don't mean it like that," Grace assured him. "Jesse, you're not _you_when you're around me. You're just… what you think I want. And it's lovely, having someone who cares about you that much, but I don't want my perfect version of you. I want you, and that's someone you've been hiding from me ever since we met."

Jesse didn't deny it.

"Please explain," Grace pleaded with him. Her wide, blue eyes were so innocent, so wondering, so different from the eyes that stared at him while he slept, accused him when he was careless enough to let his thoughts wander.

So he figured, screw it, it wasn't like she hadn't been a listening ear for all his audition failures, so Jesse suddenly found himself telling her all about Rachel, about how he'd never explained why he had transferred to her school, about how he'd never made sure she knew that he truly was sorry for what had happened. His throat seemed to close up when he started talking about Blaine, his voice raspy and soft. He couldn't look at Grace while he talked about Blaine, couldn't admit to her face that he had let things get so out of control.

Silence hung over them when he finished speaking, until Grace leaned over and kissed Jesse's forehead.

"You needed that," she decided for him. "Promise me something, Jesse." He looked up at her, wondering if her eyes had been shining this whole time or if that was new. "Promise me you'll find both of them and tell them what happened."

He stared at her, completely rigid and mute, until she sighed and headed for the door.

"You need it," she told him, before taking her leave.

And that was what she'd left him to ponder, apparently. Jesse sat there, wondering what it would be like, how it would feel, to see Rachel or Blaine again, after all this time. Would they still hold onto their hurt like it had happened yesterday? Or would they have put it behind them, written him off as not worth their time, and not even know why he was talking to them if he did?

He somehow managed to work himself into a panic. First he'd started pacing around the room, but when that didn't seem like enough his breathing had picked up, wheezing sounds coming out of his mouth even if his breath wasn't coming short. The room was spinning he was pacing so fast, until it got to the point where his pacing circle grew smaller and smaller and he was actually spinning on the spot, spinning and spinning until he collapsed onto the floor.

Jesse didn't remember falling asleep on the floor, but apparently he had, for the next thing he knew, one of his roommates was kicking his foot and telling him to move. He obliged, hurrying off to his room and locking the door, sitting cross-legged on his bed and opening up his laptop.

He googled Rachel first, knowing he was much more likely to find something of value. Sure enough, a fanpage was result number one, and clicking the link led him to a welcome screen, reading, "_This is the fanpage of the theatre actress Rachel Berry, who is currently starring in the off-Broadway musical production of Yentl._" Jesse smiled; he'd always known that Rachel would find her way, and now from the looks of it, she was living up to the legacy left by Barbra Streisand. He wasted no time in buying a ticket to her show, careful to buy a seat that was close enough to have a spectacular view but far enough away to not be illuminated by the stage lights. After all, he didn't even know if he wanted to see her.

The ticket would be waiting for him at the box office, so Jesse turned to Blaine instead. He debated for a full five minutes before clicking "search," then closed his eyes, not wanting to see what google had to tell him about Blaine Anderson.

He needn't have worried. There was nothing horrible to be found, but there wasn't anything spectacular either. Most of the links led to UCLA's school site, talking about some show Blaine was in or some concert he'd played in. He'd made quite a name for himself there, it seemed, and Jesse was smiling before he knew it. Blaine had done everything he'd wanted to do, finally graduating almost top of his class the year before.

There was another link there, for what seemed to be an indie group. Clicking on it, Jesse realized that it was a group of four singer/songwriters, who, rather than braving the industry alone, had decided to form a band. Blaine was listed under "vocals, guitar, and piano," and from the looks of things, he and the other three switched off playing or singing lead on certain songs. It was collaboration at its purest, all four of them putting in the same amount of work and getting the same amount of recognition for said work.

And they were playing a gig at Joe's Pub the following week.

Jesse made a grab for his calendar, flipping to the following week and looking at the dates he'd marked down. He had his entire calendar color-coordinated, auditions marked in red so they would stand out, work marked in purple. And sure enough, right there on Wednesday, his calendar read, "5 – midnight, Snapdragon." He hadn't paid much attention to the name, not recognizing it, but apparently that was Blaine's band, and he would be working their show.

He had half a mind to call off work, to call in a favor if he had to. Dan still owed him from the time he'd covered his shift last month, and it would be so, so easy to just–

He found himself remembering that night in the car with Blaine. How he'd had no idea what he was doing, how the fact that they'd actually managed to get anywhere with each other wasn't thanks to Blaine's fumbling or his grabbing, but the fact that Blaine had wanted him and he had wanted Blaine. It had been a terrible, sticky, and messy way for Blaine to lose his virginity, and it had probably hurt like hell when he'd finally woken up, so really, Jesse should probably at least apologize for that, shouldn't he?

That would be quite the story. He'd send a free drink to Blaine, with a note attached saying, "_Sorry I gave you the worst lay of your life. Hope you can forgive me. From, Jesse. PS. Your band is awesome._"

A rather hysterical-sounding laugh forced its way out of Jesse's mouth, so he clapped a hand over it, stifling himself. No, he had until next week to figure out how he was going to do this. Because he would be doing this. It scared him more than anything else, but he knew he had to do this.

Good thing Rachel came first, then.

Her play was surprisingly… not like the movie. At all. It was set in a completely different time period, for one thing, and Rachel's character wasn't just a woman pretending to be a man, she was a woman who actually wanted to be a man. Everyone was wearing modern-day clothing, the story focusing more on Rachel's character's journey to find herself and become an actual, physical man than her attempts to get by without her father to guide her.

While it was no Barbra Streisand movie, it was a very compelling piece of theatre.

Of course he debated again whether or not to wait for her at the stage door. There wasn't a large group of fans, but a group large enough to make things awkward if she were to react negatively. So Jesse slipped behind the barrier and asked the guard if he could deliver a message, saying he was an old friend here to surprise her. The man grudgingly agreed, looking less than happy about his new job playing messenger, probably because he got at least ten requests of the same thing every single day.

But when he came back out and beckoned for Jesse to come inside, the gruff and impatient look on his face was suddenly worth it.

"Up the stairs, the first door on your left," he instructed, pointing. "And no silly business." He tapped the door to the right of the stage door, where Jesse knew they had security cameras monitoring the goings-on.

Jesse all but ran up the stairs, knocking gently on Rachel's door and calling her name softly. The door opened and a hand seized his shirt, dragging him inside before slamming the door shut.

He caught a glimpse of her dressing room, of the bright-colored decorations she had up and the funny star-shaped lamp in the corner, before someone punched him in the face. Head spinning and seeing more stars than just that lamp, Jesse put a hand on his forehead, saying dizzily, "Rachel?"

"What do you want, Jesse?" she asked, voice huffy. He blinked a few times, locating her and seeing her sitting cross-legged on a small armchair. There was a man standing beside her, and from the looks of his hands, he had been the one to throw the punch.

"I came to… to say hello," Jesse explained lamely.

"Well I hope you have a good deal more than hello to say to me," Rachel crossed her arms, looking at him expectantly.

"I think you can figure out why else I came," Jesse admitted, holding eye contact with her even though he wanted to look down at his shoes and shuffle out of the room, preferably before he got punched again.

"It better be to explain why you broke my heart and broke an egg on my face," Rachel shot right back without missing a beat.

"Of course," Jesse began, but Rachel cut him off with, "And if it has anything to do with me making my big break and you wanting to steal that away from me too, well, then I'll just be making sure that you never work in this business again!"

"Rachel," he held his hands up. "Calm down. I'm not here to take anything from you. I just want to talk. Um," he looked over at the man still standing beside her, "do you mind?"

"This is my fiancé," Rachel explained. "Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of him."

"Fiancé," Jesse nodded, holding out a hand to the man. "Congratulations, then." The man shook it, but squeezed a bit too hard, presumably hoping that Jesse would back off if he squeezed hard enough.

"May I sit down?" Jesse indicated a stool near the mirror. Rachel nodded.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, the tension heightened by the fact that there was another man in the room, one who had presumably heard about the egging incident and was firmly on Rachel's side. This suddenly felt like a terrible idea. Who was he to come back into Rachel's life almost ten years later and remind her of what a crappy boyfriend he had been?

"I love you," he finally blurted out. Her fiancé took a step towards him, so he quickly added, "I'm not trying to get you back or anything. I just thought, well, I'm not really sure what I think anymore. But I love you, Rachel. I have since I was seventeen and stupid enough to think that the world revolved around me and that I could have both you and Vocal Adrenaline."

"Why did you pick them?" Rachel asked, the words tumbling out seemingly on their own, if her shocked expression was anything to go by.

"They were my family," Jesse said simply. "I belonged with them. I never belonged with you at McKinley, even if it did feel like home sometimes. And believe me when I say that I've thought of you so many times since, wondered what would happen if I came back to apologize, and I talked myself out of it every single time. It's so much easier just to hate someone and forget about something than to realize that they might not be a complete monster and maybe you should give them that second chance.

"I'm not asking for one," Jesse shook his head. "I just… I needed you to know. I'm sorry."

"And I wish you would have told me sooner," Rachel's eyes were wide, her mouth set in a line. "I've wasted so much time wishing you ill when I should have let you fade away into nothingness. That would have been a bigger punishment for you, after all, wouldn't it? The girl Jesse St. James loves, not even remembering his name."

But she laughed, and it wasn't a cackle. It was genuine, soft, almost remorseful.

"I loved you, Jesse," she told him. Then she stood up, walked over to him, and curled up in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face into his chest. "I loved you so, so much."

They sat there, him holding her while her fiancé watched, for minutes. Maybe the time stretched out and maybe it was cut short, but he would never be able to hold her long enough, never be able to make up for all those years of quiet resentment.

"I think you should go now," Rachel told him, standing up and walking over to her fiancé, who took her into his arms as if to prove that she could fit into his just as easily as she could fit into Jesse's. "I'm sorry I asked him to punch you in the face."

"I'm… sorry," Jesse finished lamely.

"And Jesse?" Rachel's voice went up in pitch slightly. "I think it would be best if we didn't see each other anymore. If our paths happen to cross down the line for work, that's fine, but please don't come looking for me again."

"I won't," Jesse promised, wondering if this had made any difference at all, or if he'd just ended up fucking up a relationship between two people that weren't him this time. But he left without waiting for indication either way, walked down the stairs and out of the stage door, ignoring the fans who asked him if Rachel Berry was on her way out.

It hadn't gone terribly, if he was being honest. But at the same time, that had been the worst experience of his entire life. He hadn't wanted Rachel to just be sad and then tell him that she loved him. He had wanted her to flip out on him, to hit him herself, to swear and curse him until she was pink in the face. Because that was something he could work with. He could always work with hatred. It was easy to write people out of your life, knowing that they hate you. But knowing that there had been potential for something else, for love…

Well, he could put to rest his fantasies about being the father of Rachel Berry's starlets, that was for sure.

But now that meant he had to worry about what Blaine would do. He hadn't had the same close, tell-each-other-everything relationship with Rachel. They didn't have the history he had with Blaine, and all he'd done with Rachel was kiss her, with his hands occasionally wandering over he body, but never anywhere that would make her uncomfortable. But Blaine…

If he thought hard enough, he could remember exactly what Blaine had looked like, completely naked, at eighteen. He could remember the taste of Blaine's blood as it had crusted around his nose. The smell of Blaine's sweat, the feel of his body, the sound of him moaning Jesse's name and crying out for more.

He swallowed thickly.

This one was definitely going to be more difficult.

He almost called off work three times on Tuesday. He'd dialed Dan's number, listening to the phone ring and clutching it with sweaty hands, lips bright red from the number of times he'd gnawed on them. But he'd hung up after five rings, turned his phone off, and asked one of his roommates to hide it from him.

He needed to do this. This was so much different than Rachel; she'd written him out of her life whereas Blaine had tried to talk to him, tried to set things right between them. And even though he was five years too late, it was still the right thing to do.

Jesse stubbornly stayed in the kitchen while the others helped Blaine and his band set up. He pretended to wash dishes while peeking through the window, watching the four men talk and laugh and go over their set list. Blaine carried himself differently now; he had grown a bit too, but somehow the way he held himself made him seem more imposing, more intimidating.

At least that's how it felt for the man who would probably be getting punched in the face, and have another bruise to add to the one that was fading under his left eye.

Blaine was confident, too. He was joking and laughing with everyone, introducing himself to the employees with firm handshakes and genuine smiles. He had dressed simply, in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, so unlike the Blaine he had left back in Ohio. It seemed those four years in California had paid off, helped Blaine find who he really was, and who he really was fit right in with the New York crowd.

Jesse kept his distance all night, serving the tables furthest away from the stage and hiding behind the bar when he wasn't needed. It kept him occupied, making drinks for those who came over to him, giving him nice little breaks from the constant staring that would no doubt be going on had he let himself linger somewhere else. Blaine had always been a charismatic performer, had always known how to man a stage, but now he knew how to own one. He wasn't trying to do justice to someone else's music, but introduce people to his own, and that seemed to make all the difference in the world.

Blaine had found his calling, that much was certain.

And as the night went on, it became harder and harder to take his eyes off him. Jesse found himself spilling drinks and mixing the wrong things together, eventually slopping water all down his front when he'd pointed the hose the wrong way. He looked and felt a mess, a wet, sweaty, nervous mess, and he was beginning to think that maybe not calling out of work was the worst idea he'd ever had.

"This next song is one of Blaine's," another band member was saying, but Jesse wasn't watching; he was too busy trying to wring out the front of his shirt. "And he'd like to tell you a little story about it first."

"You always want me to tell the story," Blaine said, amused, voice soft since he hadn't come up to the mic yet. "But okay," his voice suddenly boomed through the speakers. "Oh, too close. How's this?" The audience cheered. "Okay. Well, once upon a time, I lived in Ohio. Any Ohioans in the house?"

Jesse almost raised his hand, stopping himself just in time. He looked up at Blaine, seeing the other grinning around and giving the thumbs-up to a woman who had cheered and waved her arms in the air.

"All right," he nodded. "Okay, well, I lived in Ohio, and I had this friend. His name was Jesse."

Jesse felt like he'd been slapped in the face. He quickly cowered behind one of the pillars at the side of the bar, peeking out from behind it, heart trying to fly out of his chest. He began chewing the inside of his mouth, unable to move and unable to take his eyes off Blaine.

"We were best friends, and like every other cheesy rom-com, I fell in love with him." The audience made 'awww' noises, as if on cue. "But unlike every other cheesy rom-com, it didn't work out." This time the noises were sympathetic. "I– well, he…" Blaine turned to look at the band member who had introduced this song, saying, "You know I hate telling the story," before turning back, cheeks pink, and saying, "We ended up sleeping together, and as men having sexual identity crises are apt to, he pretended nothing ever happened. I got cut out of his life and I haven't said a word to him for four years."

Jesse felt like all the air had been let out of the room. He knew he shouldn't begrudge Blaine for turning his own life experience into art, because that's what artists do, and he knew he shouldn't resent him for turning this faceless Jesse into a villain, but the way he put it was just so _final_, so cold. Because he hadn't had a sexual identity crisis at all. It was just the fact that it had been _Blaine_, his best friend, a boy who trusted him and loved him and needed a shoulder to cry on, and he'd ended up having sex with him instead.

"So I wrote a song about it," Blaine finished lamely. "And tonight is actually pretty special, because this time I get to sing it to him."

And now Blaine was looking directly at him, at the tiny bit of his face and body that was peeking around the pillar, and Jesse's entire body went rigid. He'd been so careful, so cautious not to let Blaine see him until things were over, until he wouldn't get in the way of his show, but Blaine had spotted him anyway. And now heads were turning, looking at him, glaring at him, so Jesse figured he might as well just step out from behind that damn pillar and take what was coming to him.

Blaine didn't look upset. In fact, he seemed almost relieved to have found Jesse here. He just stared at him, clearly trying to say so much but unable to because it had been five whole years since they'd been able to do the whole nonverbal communication thing, and Blaine was an entirely different person who wore tight-fitting T-shirts and let his hair grow out and was practically begging every single person in the pub to either love him or lust over him with just the way he was breathing.

Jesse wanted to get up on that stage right that very second, but he had no idea what he would do once he got there. Would he apologize or just stare at him or maybe he would grab him and kiss him silly, because that seemed to shut Blaine up quite nicely. Except he didn't want to shut Blaine up, because this wasn't about him, it was about his best friend and what he'd done to the pair of them and if he was ever going to understand what he needed to do to fix it, Blaine would have to actually say something.

"Ask me not to sing it," Blaine challenged him, which made Jesse wonder what exactly he was about to hear.

"Sing it." His voice was hoarse, but it carried enough so Blaine could hear him. Whatever terrible things Blaine may have put into that song, they were still his feelings, still the best shot Jesse had at figuring out what had been going on in Blaine's head for the past five years.

Another one of the band members handed Blaine a guitar, and he started playing as soon as the strap was looped over his shoulder. Eyes locked on Jesse and lips practically glued to his mic, Blaine started to sing.

One thing became clear from the moment he began singing. He really had taken to heart what Jesse had said that night. Maybe that was a good thing and maybe that would just make patching things up that much harder, but right now Blaine was singing and he was singing to him. No matter how much it hurt to hear Blaine sing about being denied what he wanted and how much he'd clearly wanted to talk, it hurt so much more to hear that he really had believed everything Jesse had said.

He wasn't sure when he'd started crying, but there were tears on his face and it was becoming harder and harder to keep standing there listening, not when he was sure that every single person in here hated him, including Blaine. He'd wanted to talk, not get bombarded with this, but Blaine had given him the chance to stop him. He'd wanted to hear the song, and here it was.

There was no applause when Blaine finished. Half of the audience was staring at Jesse while the other half was staring at Blaine, as if looking for some indication of what they were supposed to do. And then Blaine took the guitar off his shoulder, handing it to one of his band members, and jumped off the stage, weaving between tables to get to Jesse, who quickly wiped his face, though Blaine had surely already seen the tears.

Blaine had only grown maybe two inches since Jesse had last seen him, but he seemed so much taller in those seconds while he came marching over, determination written all over his face and emphasized with a frown. He came to a halt in front of Jesse, staring him down and making him shrink back slightly, slumping against the pillar he'd been hiding behind.

"Say it," he demanded.

He was supposed to apologize. That was what Blaine was expecting. He wanted an apology for taking him to that bar, for fucking him in the car, for driving him back to Dalton and cutting him off, for running away once they'd finally crossed paths at UCLA. He wanted, deserved, and probably needed that apology, but those weren't the words that come out of Jesse's mouth.

"I love you."

Blaine punched him in the face, much harder than Rachel's fiancé had, and Jesse's hands went to his nose, feeling the blood streaming between his fingers. He grabbed the towel hanging out of his back pocket, pressing it to his face, staring down at Blaine with a mix of disbelief and relief. It wasn't that he liked having people hate him, but sometimes it was just so much easier to deal with hatred. Rachel's reaction had told him as much.

But then Blaine reached up and covered one of his hands with his own, gently taking the towel from him and holding it there for a few seconds. Then he took the towel away, folding it to cover the blood and wiping Jesse's nose, his free hand going to the back of Jesse's neck and pulling him into a very painful kiss.

His nose hurt, making him want to flinch every time their noses bumped together, probably feeling exactly how Blaine had felt with his broken nose. But now Jesse understood why Blaine hadn't pulled away, why he'd let Jesse kiss him even if it had hurt. It was a battle of instinct, and the one that needed to have the other person, needed to keep the contact that made his eyes roll and his toes curl, would always win out.

As soon as he'd gotten used to kissing Blaine, the other pulled back, mouth already set in a determined line, brow furrowed. He had a smear of blood above his lips, and Jesse reached out to wipe it away with his thumb. Blaine caught his hand before he could, lacing their fingers and dragging him out of the pub, seemingly not caring (or maybe not remembering) that he was in the middle of a show and Jesse was still working. He pulled him outside, letting the door slam behind them, then pushed him against the wall, kissing him again.

"There's," Jesse tried to speak, but Blaine was having none of it, pressing his lips to Jesse's with such determination and force that they would have toppled over were it not for the wall digging into Jesse's back. "Blaine… there's… Blaine!" He couldn't get more than one word out at once, and the longer he tried the more he wanted to just give up. What was the point in talking, anyway? He'd always relied on his instincts, and right now Blaine was apparently following his as well, so why not just call it a day and see what happened if he told the rational side of his brain to shove it?

So he did. He stopped trying to talk to Blaine and instead focused on kissing him, remembering the way their lips fit together and how Blaine had changed since then. He was much more confident now, able to kiss without hesitating first, without needing alcohol to get him to do it in the first place. Or maybe he had been drinking, but wasn't going to bother trying to find that out, of all things he could be focusing on when he had Blaine's tongue in his mouth. No, he'd just focus on how simply mind-blowing it all felt, thank you very much.

It might have been a few seconds or ten minutes, but the frantic and rather sloppy kissing soon turned gentler. Blaine stopped pushing as hard, waiting for Jesse to meet him halfway, and Jesse's hands had fallen to rest on Blaine's lower back, holding him there. What had been rushed was now slow, hard now soft, feeling sweet and almost caring. Was this what it felt like to kiss someone lovingly?

And then the kissing stopped, and they were just standing there, foreheads pressed together with Jesse inhaling on Blaine's exhales, both their faces smeared with Jesse's blood and Blaine's sweat. Then Blaine let out a soft giggle, raising the towel he was still holding and saying, "You look like shit."

"I could say the same about you," Jesse admitted, but he let Blaine wipe off his face before taking the towel and returning the favor. "How did you know I was in there?"

"I saw you coming in," Blaine explained. "I was taking a call across the street, and you were just arriving. I thought it wasn't you at first, but then I caught a couple glimpses through the kitchen window and the way you were always hovering right where I couldn't see you… It was easy enough to realize that I wasn't imagining things."

"That song," Jesse started, but Blaine cut him off.

"I know. It's horrible and I never should have written it and–"

"No," Jesse interrupted this time, catching Blaine's face in his hands. "It was perfect. It hurt, but it was perfect."

Blaine reached up and kissed the tip of Jesse's nose.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, flinching.

"Oh, right, sorry," Blaine backtracked. "I didn't mean to punch you. I just… I just did." He reached up and rubbed the bridge of his own nose, where Jesse could see a small bump. "Maybe we'll match now."

Jesse leaned down and kissed the bump on Blaine's nose.

"I think we will," he decided, tucking the now bloody and smelly towel into his back pocket, then wiping his hand on his jeans before reaching over to take one of Blaine's hands. "Walk with me?"

"Anywhere," Blaine nodded, squeezing Jesse's hand.

They walked for hours. Blaine told him all about UCLA, how he'd found the three men he was now in a band with, how they had clicked instantly and decided to collaborate rather than struggle on their own. He told Jesse about a guy he'd met the same day they had run into each other, how he and that guy had gotten into a relationship that Blaine admitted he would never be proud of, but would never deny. He didn't sugarcoat anything, nor was Jesse asking him to. Jesse knew that it was his fault, and when he said as much Blaine didn't deny it.

"I made the choice," Blaine said, "but that choice never would have existed if it weren't for you."

In turn, Jesse told him about New York, about how he failed as an actor and how he'd had a string of meaningless relationships until he met Grace. He'd never stopped thinking about them, Blaine and Rachel, about what he'd done, but he'd been too stupid to think that maybe patching things up would be better for everyone than running away.

"I thought if I let you both hate me while I wasted away alone, it would even out in the end," he admitted. "I'm no good at talking about my feelings. I never have been. And you know this better than anyone; you've got a mark on your face to prove it."

And then they were done playing catch up and Jesse had apologized a grand total of seventeen times, and neither of them had any idea what to do.

"I wasn't planning on punching you or kissing you," Blaine told him as they sat on a bench in the middle of Times Square, the noise somehow comforting. "But I'm glad I did."

"I am too," Jesse nodded, looking down at their still joined hands. "They fit together nicely, don't they?" His thumb was brushing against Blaine's almost absently, arms pressed together between them.

"We fit together nicely," Blaine tried, looking to Jesse for confirmation.

"With our matching noses and your uncanny ability to get me to be honest with you, I must agree." Jesse leaned closer, his forehead resting against Blaine's temple, and he said, "But we can't. Not yet."

"What do you mean?" Blaine's grip on Jesse's hand slackened, and he pulled away.

"I mean it's been five years since we talked and I'm not fucking this up again," Jesse said firmly. "I care about you too much – no, I _love_you too much to let that happen."

"You're talking like you're going to run away again," Blaine's tone was accusatory.

"I'll never do that again," Jesse promised, "but if I've learned anything in those five years, it's to never act on your impulses."

"Funny," Blaine chuckled. "I learned they're the only things I can rely on when it comes to you."

They stared at each other, hands still laced together, having reached the end of one conversation and the start of a new one. And it was important, so important that neither of them said anything, choosing to just look at the other, soak in his presence and marvel at where they'd been and where they were now.

"I'm in New York for five more days," Blaine finally said. "Then the four of us are going back to California. We're recording an album." His tone switched, finally sounding like the desperate and scared boy he still was. "Ask me to come back when we're done. Please."

"I can't ask you to do that," Jesse shook his head, chewing on his lip before adding, "but you can ask me."

"No I can't," Blaine shook his head this time. "You may not be working, Jesse, but you belong here. We always knew you were going to end up here. I can't ask you to give that up."

Silence hung over them again, penetrated by taxis rushing and honking, pedestrians chattering excitedly together. The world moved on outside the two men, unseen and unheard by either, just as it always had and always will.

Until finally, one of them said, "I can live with five days."

And the other, "Five days is perfect."


End file.
